


To Reign in Hell

by solomonara



Series: The Demon's Progress [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence, Demon!Dean, Destiel - Freeform, I say graphic depictions of violence, I've decided that's a thing, M/M, Season 10 AU, but it's really no more than you see in the actual show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel have kissed and made up (among other things) and are now enacting their plan to take over Hell - with Sam's help, of course. Sequel to The Demon's Progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, what you've got on your screen is part two of the thing I'm calling The Demon's Progress. Part 2 (and part 3 for that matter) are going to be considerably more plot-heavy and less humor-oriented than part 1. Also longer. I wrote this during hiatus between seasons 9 and 10, so please just sort of consider this a season 10 AU - it's almost 100% certain to be Jossed the moment the first episode of season 10 airs in October. That said, I've been avoiding all previews and photos and that kind of thing (I really despise spoilers) so if there IS something in here that jives with what actually happens on the show, it's total coincidence.
> 
> Now then. When I wrote The Demon's Progress (part 1) I didn't know I'd be continuing... if I had I would never have introduced some random demon scholar who knows some mysterious way to bypass wards, and I certainly wouldn't have invented such a transparent deus ex machina as a 'Dean trap,' etc etc. But I did, and now I'm stuck with them, so I'm gonna spend a little time here at the beginning kinda fixing up some loose ends. The plot will pick up a little next chapter. 
> 
> (And yes, this work AND the next in the series are actually completely finished... so I will be posting regularly).
> 
> Many thanks to the ineffable [DragonSorceress22](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/works) for beta-ing!

**To Reign in Hell**

_Here we may reign secure; and, in my choice,_  
 _To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:_  
 _Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven._    
\- Paradise Lost, _John Milton_

**Chapter 1**

"Dean, you asked for my help and this is what I'm telling you to do."

"Yeah, well, last time I gave you any info on this guy you took it straight to Crowley. You can see why I think he might not be so keen on cooperation."

"Persuade him," Sam said through gritted teeth. If his brother had been stubborn as a human, they needed to invent a new word for what he was as a demon. Sam wished Cas would turn up. He usually took Sam's side and Dean was much more likely to give in to him.

"What, you want me to go darkside on his ass? Believe me, he probably got enough of that from Crowley when he was grilling him for your stupid little... me trap!"

"Are you seriously trying to guilt me over a demon getting tortured?"

"Come on, Sam, I know you. You feel guilty when you dog-ear a page in a book because it might hurt the tree's feelings."

"That's not why I won't let you dog-ear the pages, Dean, some of those books are--" Sam bit off the end of the old, familiar argument because Dean was laughing. Sam shook his head, but let himself smile too. If Dean was laughing, he'd already come around; he was just giving Sam a hard time.

"All right, Sammy, we'll hook ourselves a scholar demon. Let me take a trip downstairs and work on him a little first, though - and make sure Crowley won't notice he's missing when we drag him up here."

Dean vanished and Sam fell into the nearest chair with an exhalation of relief. There was always just that little bit of tension when Dean was around; all of his hunter instincts jangled when a demon was that close, no matter how often his brain told them that it was Dean, his brother, and not a threat.

The three of them had made progress since that day he'd locked Cas and Dean in a room together to sort out their issues. While filling him in on the state of things in Hell, Dean had explained to Sam how he was able to bypass the bunker's wards. Luckily it wasn't something any other demon would be able to do. It had to do with Dean still inhabiting his original body rather than possessing someone else's, his anti-possession tattoo (essentially a simplified devil's trap itself), and one more thing that the Talmudic scholar he'd scrounged up from the depths of Hell had helped him with.

When Dean got to this part, Cas had crossed his arms and glowered - he already knew what was coming, apparently. Dean shrugged a little sheepishly at him and removed layers of clothing until he could roll up a sleeve far enough for Sam to see his upper arm. In just the place where he had once borne the imprint of a certain angel's hand, there was another scar, this one a long, irregular welt of raised flesh with what looked like burn marks radiating outward from it.

"I embedded an angel feather in my arm," he said.

"You embedded one of _my_ feathers in your flesh," Castiel had clarified, sounding rather put-out about it. "Which was incredibly dangerous and ill-advised. This... scholar of yours - where did he say he learned that?"

"He didn't," Dean said, tugging his clothes back into place. "And yeah, it hurt like a bitch. Thought my arm was gonna burn right off."

"Any other demon would have died. Angel 'feathers', as you call them, are explicit representations of our grace. They mirror the condition of what could be called our souls, if angels had such a thing. Taking a sliver of grace and embedding it in a demon would be the same thing as stabbing that demon with an angel blade."

"Turns out those can't kill me anymore either," Dean had said with a cocky grin. "Perks of knighthood." Castiel had only scowled harder at that.

So it didn't matter that Crowley knew how Dean could bypass devil's traps; his own body was long gone, as were the bodies of most demons since it generally took so long to twist a soul into demonhood, and unless Crowley suddenly became a Knight of Hell there was no way he could pull off the second requirement. The knowledge wouldn't help him at all. He did have a way to trap Dean, though, so they would have to be on the lookout for that.

Armed with this new information, Sam had gone diving into the Men of Letters library to try and find some sort of source for it all. If they could discover where this demon had learned all of these things, they might be able to find out more - after all, if a Talmudic scholar had learned it, it was probably written down somewhere.

But that had been a few days ago, and his search had yielded no results. Sam had begun to worry that Hell's library might have a few books he didn't. Cas, meanwhile, had returned to Heaven to ask questions there. He seemed particularly troubled, saying that the only way such knowledge could have come into being was from Cain himself, as he was the only other demon in history to inhabit his own body. And Cain had no dealings with angels, so where that second bit of knowledge had come from was anyone's guess.

And so Sam had determined that the only way to cover their asses and get some answers was to get the source himself on their side. Which hopefully would be what Dean was working on right now.

Sam hauled himself out of the chair and headed for the dungeons. He wanted to make sure the devil's trap embedded in the floor there there was still intact, maybe add a few extra sigils to the walls, and have the manacles ready just in case.

He'd just finished checking for breaks or weaknesses in the iron trap when Cas appeared.

"Any luck?" Sam asked, sitting back on his heels.

"No," Cas said. "We know... surprisingly little about Cain and his knights."

"What about Metatron?"

Cas's eyes flicked to Sam's face and then away. "Asking him would be unwise. Even if he were to tell me anything, giving him any clue as to our plans would be foolish. I am not the only one who has access to him, and there are those among the Host who would... misunderstand my intentions."

"Wait, Cas, you haven't told anyone about what we're trying to do here? I mean, I'm not saying you need to broadcast it to the whole army, but there has to be someone you trust."

Cas fixed Sam with a stern look - or actually it might have been just a regular look, it was sometimes hard to tell with Cas - and he rose to his feet self-consciously. Cas's eyes followed him up. "Of course I trust my lieutenants. But what would be the point of informing them? Our success depends on secrecy."

"Yeah, you're right, it's just - it's really easy to make bad decisions in isolation, Cas."

"I'm not in isolation. I have you, and Dean."

"Sure. But, well, Dean's a demon and I'm... well, I'm probably biased toward him to be perfectly honest. I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to have another perspective."

Cas's brow wrinkled. "I'll... consider it." He stood in silence while Sam gathered up the materials they would need to summon the demon. Then, abruptly, "Are you worried I'm going to do something foolish?"

Sam bit his lip. "Not, you know, on purpose," he said. Cas nodded.

"Understand, Sam. I don't wish to be manipulated. All the ill I've wrought since pulling Dean from Hell - all of it has been because I trusted the wrong people, allowed myself to be controlled. By Michael and the angels who wished for the apocalypse, by Naomi, by Metatron. I do not claim to be blameless, particularly not in the case of the Leviathan, but by maintaining the secrecy of this plan, I can know that I have been swayed by no one's machinations - save for yours and Dean's, which I trust."

"Well I wouldn't say we have _machinations_ , but the rest of that was beautiful, lover," Dean drawled from the doorway behind them. Cas did not turn. Dean sauntered across the room and slid his arms over Castiel's shoulders, crossing them over the front of the angel's chest and resting his chin on his shoulder. "You still mad about that feather thing? Next time I promise I'll ask."

" _Next_ time?!" Castiel demanded. Dean laughed and flicked his tongue out at Cas's earlobe, then straightened and stepped away from him.

"Ok, we summoning this guy or what?" he asked.

"Just need a name," Sam said.

"Calls himself Tevye," Dean supplied. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Really? No way that's his real name."

"Yeah, because demons so often use those. I don't see you calling Crowley 'Fergus'. Now make with the chanting, I've got a regime to overthrow."

"All right, all right. Cas, you should probably--" he had been about to suggest that Cas leave, as it wouldn't do for a demon to realize that he and Dean were on speaking terms, but the angel was already gone.

Sam shook his head and dropped a match into the bowl of spell components, chanting the summoning. A demon appeared almost instantly, inside the devil's trap. Sam looked to Dean for confirmation, and he nodded.

'Tevye' was a short, compact man (though to Sam, most people were) with thinning brown hair. He was wearing a tweed coat with honest-to-goodness patches on the elbows. Sam frowned, wondering where the demon had gotten that meatsuit and having serious misgivings all of a sudden. Tevye grinned at Dean.

"All right. I'm here. This had better be good; Crowley told me not to talk to you anymore."

Dean shrugged. "If he asks, tell him you were talking to Sam. He likes Sam."

Tevye's eyes traveled up and down Sam's body, weighing him. Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Ah yes. The brains of the operation," Tevye said. "Though I'm not sure how intelligent it was to drag Crowley into the middle of your little brotherly spat."

"That's why you're here," Sam said. "We just need one thing from you - silence."

"Is that a threat? Did you really go through all the trouble of summoning me to 'silence' me when Dean could have just stuck that disgusting knife of his into me in Hell?"

"We didn't bring you here to kill you," Sam said.

"Though I'm not saying that option's off the table," Dean added, resting a hand on the aforementioned disgusting knife. He'd picked up a holster for it somewhere and was rarely without it these days.

Tevye stifled a yawn. "How predictable. Can we come to the point, boys? I gather you don't want me sharing any more of my fabulous knowledge with Crowley. Possibly you think I should share it with you. But you've yet to explain to me how that would in any way be to my advantage."

"Well, other than you getting to stay alive, from what Dean says, you're a pretty serious scholar," Sam said. Tevye's eyes gleamed. "So, you stay out of Hell, away from Crowley, and when this is all over, we give you access to our library."

Tevye opened his mouth to say something but Sam held up a hand. " _And_ , until this is over, you have our protection."

Tevye considered. "So... you're going to break this trap and let me walk out of here? And just wander the Earth?" he asked, clearly skeptical.

"Just as soon as you swear loyalty to Dean as your king."

"Ah. So that's the endgame. Making a play for King of Hell. _Interesting_." Tevye grinned again. "All right, I'm definitely in. But how the hell do you know I'll keep my word?"

Now it was Dean's turn to grin, and his eyes went black. "You're not the first demon I've recruited. I've got eyes and ears in Hell and on Earth. You talk to Crowley, I will find out. And then it'll be my turn to teach you a few things."

"Oh yes. Very good. They're going to love you down there," Tevye said, not in the least intimidated. "Very well, then, I swear my loyalty to the _new_ King of Hell, long may he reign, et cetera, et cetera, in exchange for future access to the fabled Men of Letters library and current protection. By the way, how _do_ you plan on protecting me if Crowley's thugs come after me and I'm halfway around the world?"

"Oh, you'll be watched," Dean promised. "Don't you worry about that."

Tevye scoffed. "Fine. We're all in agreement then. Let me out."

Dean bent to remove the tiny portion of the trap designed to come away from the floor.

"Wait," Sam said. Dean paused, looking up at him. "That person you're possessing--" Sam started, but didn't even finish the sentence before Tevye had reached into his jacket and produced a scrap of paper, which he held out to Sam.

"Go on, take it," Tevye said, moving as close to the edge of the circle as he could. Sam reached out and snatched the paper, which turned out to be a newspaper clipping: an obituary bearing the image of the man Tevye now wore. Sam scanned the obit, skimming the bits about how Professor Smith had left behind a loving wife, how he'd made everyone laugh, how his sense of humor and practical jokes would be sorely missed around campus, how each of his students was like a child to him; Sam's jaw clenched more and more with each line until he came to the bit about how Smith had died of heart failure.

"Heart failure? Was that you?" Sam demanded.

"Please. No. I knew I was coming to see you soon, and your distaste for demons driving around unwilling hosts is well-known, so I hopped into this gentleman just before he died. He never knew I was there. I played dead through the whole funeral and everything - and let me tell you, that was not pleasant. You ever dug your way out of your own grave?"

"Yes," Dean said, not looking up from cleaning his fingernails with a bowie knife.

"Uh... right," said Tevye. "Anyway, I'm honest to goodness dead. Not hijacking anyone's life. So go on, let me out."

Dean looked up to Sam for confirmation and Sam nodded. Dean removed the section of the trap and Tevye stepped free.

Sam and Dean escorted him from the bunker, and watched as he walked down the road for a bit, then vanished.

"Huh," Sam said, watching the spot where he'd been. "Seems like everyone but me can teleport these days."

"Just takes practice," Dean said, heading back inside. "Well, and power. But you have to know how to do it and demons don't really like to share info."

"How'd you learn, then?"

"Crowley taught me."

"That was... nice of him?"

"It was _convenient_ for him. Look, Sam, don't try to get into the mess that is my 'relationship' with Crowley," Dean said, complete with air quotes. "We've got more important things to worry about. Like killing him."

"Right. So, um, why haven't you?"

"What?"

"Dean, you've got all this power - you're the only Knight of Hell, and honestly you probably could have taken Crowley on _without_ demonic powers. So why all this plotting?" Sam asked. Yes, Crowley was clever and had avoided their attempts to kill him in the past, but there was nowhere he could hide now. A quick jab of the First Blade and all his plots would mean nothing.

"Mostly because I don't wanna spend the next century fighting off every jackass who thinks he can take me," Dean said. "There's two groups of demons down in Hell, Sammy. The ones who think I'm weak because I was human not too long ago, and the ones who are fucking terrified of me. I need that second group to be a little bigger before I try anything."

"Hm." Sam considered that, then reached for a pad of paper and a pen. "Ok then. There's a few things we need to figure out," he said, scribbling out a quick list. "First - what are your weaknesses? We're pretty sure only the First Blade can kill you, but what about other things? Like, can you be exorcised from your own body? If not, is it because of the tattoo, or because it's your body?"

"Whoa wait, slow down. I don't know any of that crap."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, tearing off the sheet of paper and thrusting it at Dean. "That's why you're going to find out."

"What, I've got homework now?"

"Looks like it. Figure out the things on that list and let me know. We need to know anything Crowley might use against you."

"Should have kept Tevye on a shorter leash," Dean grumbled.

"We have to give him a chance to betray us before I'm comfortable trusting anything he says," Sam said, folding his arms. Dean rolled his eyes.

"It's like you've been betrayed by demons dozens of times or something," he said. "Fine. I'll figure this stuff out on my own, we can compare notes with Tevye later, see if what he says jives. That about the size of it?"

Sam nodded. Dean shook his head one more time and vanished, leaving his brother alone in the bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok now that that's out of the way and we won't have a billion demons learning how to sneak into the bunker, let's get on with the actual plot, eh? Yay!
> 
> EDIT: I was rereading this after re-watching season nine and damned if that blasted trap in the dungeon isn't made of flipping IRON. But, like, if that's the case... how did Sam and Dean ever let Crowley out of it? I'm assuming some tiny part of the trap has to be made to break away so that the Men of Letters could get demons out. Hell maybe the whole trap is set in pegs drilled into the floor and it all comes up in pieces like a puzzle. Yes. That's it. That room was never a dungeon, it was the Men of Letters game room where they assembled puzzles in their spare time! Good. Glad we got that sorted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My delightful beta, [DragonSorceress22](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/works), has suggested some [mood music](http://tinysong.com/187ig) to go along with To Reign in Hell (remember, CTRL+click to open in a new tab!).
> 
> I recommend listening to this song at least once per chapter. Hell, you should probably just put it on repeat XD

**Chapter 2**

 

In the grand tradition of Earth-walking demons everywhere, Dean had found himself a nice abandoned factory in which to set up shop. It wasn't that he couldn't go back to Hell; it was just that he couldn't get the information Sam had asked for there.

He needed to study possession, and in Hell, the demons weren't possessing anyone. Many of them retained the semblance of whatever meatsuit they'd been wearing when last on Earth, but strictly speaking, you couldn't drive a stolen body back down to Hell unless you used one of the special portals like the one in Purgatory.

For most demons, that was way too much trouble to take for a meatsuit: it didn't matter to them who they possessed, as long as they stayed on Earth as long as possible. But Crowley was another story. He travelled back and forth between Hell and Earth frequently, keeping an eye on his interests, and always looked the same. Dean suspected he had a way of creating his own portals so that he would never have to leave the body he'd clearly become accustomed to.

None of this, though, was a concern for Dean. Being tied to his own body apparently conferred several advantages, because he had no problems leaping between Hell and Earth. The first time he'd done it, Crowley had looked on, amused, expecting him to fail. The surprise on his face had been very satisfying.

Not that Dean spent much time in the pit. It was _boring_ down there. When Dean had first gone to Hell, after selling his soul for Sam's life, the place had been run by several generals, each anticipating Lucifer's return. It was all fire, brimstone, meat hooks, and blood. Under Crowley's reign, the place had reshaped itself into a different sort of nightmare, one drawing inspiration from the best bureaucratic traditions of Earth. There were still cells where certain special souls tormented themselves with their own twisted imaginings - Sam had seen that firsthand when rescuing Bobby - but overall the place did not have much to offer in the way of entertainment.

"What would you have me do?" Crowley had complained when Dean pointed out how unsuited for demons Hell had become. "All of the great warriors and torturers are dead thanks to you and the rest of the Goonies. I do what I can with the resources available."

And that was when he'd put Dean in charge of training up the next generation of great warriors and torturers, a responsibility Dean had then proceeded to neglect in pursuit of other diversions.

Which, in the end, had landed him here, in this empty warehouse, with a stolen morgue table and an equally stolen corpse.

He was looking around for a place to plug in the power supply for his (also stolen) tattoo gun when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Dean whirled around to find Crowley examining the corpse.

"Something I can help you with? Or you just like to poke dead guys?" Dean asked.

Crowley eyed Dean for a few moments, as though considering what to say. Dean was about to ignore him and get back to work when he finally spoke.

"Dean," Crowley said. "Are you fucking Castiel?"

Dean let the grin spread across his face lazily. "Oh, yeah," he said, not caring how pleased he sounded about it. Crowley spluttered.

"Wh- you're just going to admit it?"

"...yeah?" Dean said, affecting confusion.

"You are screwing around - _literally_ \- with the leader of Heaven's armies, and you didn't think that this might be A PROBLEM?" Crowley demanded, shouting now.

"What, you think he's gonna corrupt me or something?" Dean licked his lips slowly, remembering. "Cuz I gotta tell you, it's more the other way around. Besides, weren't you the one who told me to go howl at the moon or whatever?"

"Yeah, I said howl at the moon, not shack up with - and I cannot stress this enough - the fucking _leader of Heaven._ Who, by the way, refuses to return my calls."

"What can I say, Cas is a one-demon kind of guy."

"What I mean, you dull-witted sack of raging hormones, is that in the past, Heaven and Hell had a mutually beneficial arrangement," Crowley said, pronouncing each word precisely to keep from shouting. "Now they're refusing to so much as talk to us? It makes one suspicious. It makes one wonder what they might be planning." Crowley stared down Dean as though expecting him to give something away. Dean smiled back at him pleasantly.

"Sorry, Crowley, we don't talk a lot of business when we see each other."

"Is that so. So you know nothing about his plan to reactivate the prophets then?"

Dean didn't need to fake the surprise in his voice. "Come again?"

"Ah. I take it not. I have it on fairly good authority that Castiel's next major move is going to be repairing the prophet cycle that Metatron disrupted. What I wouldn't mind having is confirmation of this intel," Crowley said with a pointed look at Dean.

"You want me to fuck it out of him?" Dean asked. "Ok."

"You do work for me now, Dean, and when- wait, 'ok'? What do you mean _ok_?"

"I mean... ok?" Dean glanced around and finally located an old outlet. He plugged in the extension cord leading back to the power supply and the machine whirred to life. "Hey!" he exclaimed, pleased. "It works." He headed back over to the morgue table, corpse, activated tattoo machine, and perplexed Crowley, and turned the machine off.

"You do understand that I am asking you to emotionally manipulate Castiel - profound bond Castiel - and in a moment of unguarded postcoital bliss extract state secrets from him?" Crowley asked, eyes narrowed as he examined Dean.

"Well, when you put it like that..." Dean's eyes flicked black. "It sounds even better."

Crowley let out a disappointed sigh. "Well damn. Let me call off the boys," he said, pulling out his phone. "Here I was all ready to kidnap Sam for leverage--"

Dean was across the table with his hand around Crowley's throat before he could so much as dial. He slammed Crowley against the wall.

"You listen to me, Crowley. King of Hell or not, you fuck with mine, you will regret it," he hissed. Crowley stared evenly at him until Dean's eyes faded to normal and he backed off. Crowley brushed off his lapels and cleared his throat.

"Well. Good to know at least one of your buttons is still where it's supposed to be," he said smugly. Dean snorted his derision.

"Speaking of things that _aren't_ where they're supposed to be," Crowley went on. "What could you possibly be doing here with this particular set of supplies?"

"Homework," Dean grunted. Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Hey, you're the one who put me in charge of all those wannabe demons. Unfortunately, my teacher caught a bad case of being killed to death before I finished my training, so I've got some gaps to fill in."

"Right. And what exactly--"

"Look, I don't know," Dean said, spreading his hands. "No clue what I'm going to find out here. I'm not research guy, I'm hit-it-till-it-bleeds guy. But if you wanna help, I could use a demon minion." 

"You _are_ the demon minion." 

"Yeah well, I need one that's not stuck in a body. Give me someone you don't like too much, I need to try some things he might not walk away from." 

"Curioser and curioser. I should have known Dean Winchester would still be finding ways to hurt demons even after he became one. All right, you'll have your minion - as long as I get the results when you're done."

Dean shrugged. "Of course."

"And Dean?"

"What?"

"If you're going to be my sole knight, there is a certain _class_ you might bring to the thing. I mean, who ever heard of a demon called Dean? You have rank enough for any name, and there are some nice ones vacant - Alistair. Azazel. Abaddon. Hell, you could take Lillith. I won't judge."

Dean pursed his lips. "I would like to stab you right now."

"Well. Since heretofore you've made conquest of angels, shall _I_ make you afraid?" Crowley proclaimed with a sardonic bow.

"...what."

"Oh come on. _Pilgrim's Progress_? The giant who decides that since he's killed all these angels he's not afraid of the hero and then gets his arse handed to him? For God's sake, it's never been out of print." 

"Yeah, I'm not following you," Dean said obtusely.

Crowley flung his arms up in disgust. "Could have gotten the big literate moose to spend eternity with, but no, I get the one who just likes to hit things." He vanished, still muttering. 

Dean shook his head and brushed some dust off his corpse. "Arrogant son of a bitch," he muttered, hefting the tattoo gun. "Can't believe he just compared himself to Great-heart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait what do you mean you haven't all read The Pilgrim's Progress? IT'S NEVER BEEN OUT OF PRINT! But, in case you need a refresher, Great-heart is this great big old Hufflepuff of a character who goes around doing selfless, heroic things. If anyone in this fic is Great-heart, it's Sam.
> 
> And yes, I think Dean would have read Pilgrim's Progress. It's a text that explicitly mentions angels (not to mention other beasties) and how to deal with them, and it's old enough that it might have some actual lore in it. I think after Houses of the Holy (2.13) Dean probably did a LOT of reading, and wouldn't be surprised if that was one of the texts he went through - especially since the whole thing is available on Google Books. (Sorry... 'Search the Web' books...) And even if he didn't then, I'm pretty sure at the start of season 4 he would have come across it eventually, even if it was just through Bobby giving him a summary (it makes a much better story told orally - the text itself is... troublesome. And boring.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 

Dean was sprawled on his stomach, Cas beside him on his back. One of Dean's legs was still draped over one of Cas's and his arm was flung over the angel's chest. One might have said it looked as though Dean were trying to prevent Cas leaving, if it hadn't been so obvious that Cas had no intention of moving. He lay there bonelessly, studying the ceiling as Dean rubbed lazy circles on his shoulder with his thumb.

"Hey Cas," Dean said eventually, his voice afterglow-smooth and mellow.

"Mm," said Cas.

"Are you planning to reactivate the prophets?" Dean asked.

"No," said Cas.

"Ok, cool," said Dean, his eyes drifting closed. Technically he didn't need to sleep. But he liked the idea of letting the world pass by without him, he and Cas oblivious in this tiny room underground, responsible for nothing save each other's pleasure.

Sometime later he opened his eyes. Cas had not moved, though Dean had. He was now on his side facing Cas, resting somewhat uncomfortably in the crook of the angel's arm. But Cas was absently running his fingers through Dean's hair with that hand, because angels didn't have to worry about losing circulation from people sleeping on their extremities, and there was no way Dean was moving right now.

He breathed in deeply, savoring the Cas-after-sex smell that was only his. "So how come Crowley thinks you're looking to raise some prophets?" Dean asked.

"Because there is a traitor within the Host," Castiel said.

"You seem awfully calm about that."

"That is because I fed false information to the one I suspected. You've just confirmed the identity of the one responsible for an information leak. Justice can now be wrought."

"Hang on a second there, Batman," Dean said, sitting up and stretching. He pretended not to notice Cas's eyes traveling across him as he did so. "Think you can hold off on the justice for a bit?"

"To what end?"

"You have a leak. The leak doesn't know you know he's a leak. Perfect opportunity to sow some misinformation. If Crowley thinks his info's accurate, we can set him up somewhere down the road."

Cas considered and nodded slowly. "I see your point. Though, Dean, eventually he'll realize that he's not getting as much information as he should be. Particularly when we do not, in fact, reactivate the prophets. How much more time do you need to build your base of support in Hell?"

"Hm. Well." Dean jumped out of the bed and started gathering up bits of his clothing from around the room where they'd been scattered. "Right now most of them are just scared of me. Crowley's shown he's pretty willing to hand over anyone who's pissed him off to me." He shook his head at the torn collar of a black t-shirt he'd plucked from the floor, tossing it aside and heading to the dresser for a replacement.

Castiel watched him from the bed, unblinking. "Hand them over? For what?"

"Just... some things I'm trying to figure out for Sam. Tests and stuff."

"You're doing experiments on demons?" Cas shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, not noticing the coldness of the floor on his bare feet. "And Crowley's helping? How did you explain that to him?"

"I just told him it was for - er - a different job he gave me," Dean said, suddenly realizing that the truth would just concern Cas. He was too late though - anyone could have seen that he'd been about to say something else, never mind someone who knew him as well as Cas did. Cas just stared at him silently until Dean finally sighed and said, "Fine. I told him it was research so I can start training other demons to be... less pathetic."

"You're teaching them what Alistair taught you."

Dean frowned. "I wish people would stop bringing him up. I'm not him." _I'm better_ , pointed out a small part of himself that really was not helping right now. "Look, I'm gonna be in charge of these mooks pretty soon, so it doesn't really matter. It's not like I'm going to be ordering them to tear apart souls and lead armies across Earth or something."

Cas dropped his gaze. "I know, Dean. But until we succeed... I worry."

"Hey," Dean said, his expression softening. "Look at it this way - it's a really good position to be in. A great way to make friends and influence demons. I'm expanding my network," he said with a little, lopsided grin. "Leaning in and all that crap."

"Just... as long as you can do that and still be Dean," Cas said softly.

"Of course I can," Dean said, coming to sit beside Cas on the bed. "I have so far, haven't I?"

If Castiel hesitated a beat too long before meeting Dean's eyes and nodding, Dean didn't notice. He just smiled and closed the space between them, claiming Cas's lips and sliding his hand up the angel's spine. "Hey Cas," Dean said, breaking the kiss by less than a centimeter. "Let me see your wings."

Cas leaned away, though Dean's hand on his back prevented him from going very far. "Dean..."

"You're not still mad about the feather thing, are you?" Dean looked genuinely concerned. "I really am sorry. I promise I won't do it again."

Cas put his hands on Dean's shoulders, moving him away slightly. "It's not about the feather, Dean. It was never about that. It was about the damage you were willing to do to yourself - on the word of a demon."

"Oh. Well it turned out--"

"I wish you wouldn't be so reckless with the one thing I treasure above all others," Castiel interrupted. Dean's mouth snapped shut and he blinked a few times.

"Cas... I'm sorry. I can't promise not to be reckless. Sort of in the job description," he said with a little shrug. Cas nodded and looked away. "But, hey, I _can_ promise I'll take you with me into danger. We'll watch each others' backs. I'll be reckless, and you'll be there to catch me. Does that sound all right?"

"Dean." Castiel stood and Dean craned his neck up to look at him. "Shield your eyes."

Dean grinned and grabbed Cas's hand. "No."

He pulled the angel down into a kiss as the room erupted in radiance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gee. Did Cas and Dean spend that entire chapter completely unclothed? GOSH. HOW DID THAT HAPPEN. (Please feel free to draw your own conclusions about how that shirt got torn.)
> 
> Guys, this chapter would have been posted sooner but I literally spent an hour staring at the third sentence wondering about proper use of the subjunctive until [DragonSorceress22](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/works) pointed out that, given what was going on in the preceding two sentences, NO ONE WAS GONNA CARE ABOUT THE SUBJUNCTIVE. 
> 
> Sigh. Kids these days.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 

The flickering of the lights woke Sam from a dead sleep and he was reaching for the shotgun under his bed before he was more than half awake. He lead with the weapon, stumbling out of his room and into the hallway, senses alert for any threat. Then he saw the unmistakable glow of angelic radiance coming from under Dean's door, swore, and stalked back into his room, slamming the door behind him.

He stowed the shotgun and dove back into bed face-first, burying his face in his pillow to block out the last of the flickering as the room settled back into darkness. He was just dozing off again when his phone buzzed.

Sam groped for the cursed thing and cracked one eye open to glare at the screen. It was a text from Krissy.

**Krissy**   
_You won't believe where I_   
_am right now._

Sam rolled over and focused on the screen, a small frown line appearing between his eyebrows.

 

 **Sam  
** _Trouble?_

**Krissy**

  
_Probably_

**Sam** _  
You're in Kentucky?_

**Krissy**   
_Nope. This one's in Indiana and  
guess what it's famous for._

 

Sam's eyes drifted closed then shot open when he dropped his phone on his face. It buzzed again.

 

 **Krissy  
** _You're not guessing._

  **Sam**  
 _I don't know. Dangerously  
codependent relationships?_

**Krissy**   
_PIE_   
  
**Krissy**   
_I am looking at a 60-year-old pie_   
_factory right now. Made this place the_   
_sugar cream pie capital of... something._   
_The world maybe. Who knows._

**Sam**   
_Krissy, why are you looking at a_   
_60-year-old pie factory in the middle_   
_of the night and texting me about it?_

**Krissy  
** _No reason._

 

Sam rolled his eyes and waited.

 

 **Krissy  
** _I really want to tell Dean about this place._

 **Sam** _  
That's not a good idea._

 **Krissy  
** _I know I know. Don't text the demon. Don't engage._

 **Krissy  
** _I miss him._

 **Sam** _  
I know._

**Sam**   
_Hey, what are you doing_   
_there anyway? Is there a job?_

**Krissy  
** _omg i KNEW you weren't reading my blog_

 **Sam** _  
uh..._

**Krissy**   
_hunter-slash-pediatrician.tumblr.com!  
I told you about it when we met up in Oregon!_

 

Sam grimaced. That had been right at the beginning of this whole make-Dean-King-of-Hell thing and Krissy's blog had definitely not been at the top of his list of things to worry about. Sam clicked the link and his eyebrows went up.

 

 **Sam** _  
__Hey, are you sure blogging about your_  
 _hunts is a good idea? The bad guys_  
 _can use the internet too you know._

**Krissy**   
_Duh, Sam. I've got like, 2 followers._   
_And I'm careful. I write up the posts_   
_while we hunt then queue them up_   
_for later so that by the time anyone_   
_reads them, we're long gone. It's my_   
_hunting journal, but now anyone can_   
_benefit from it. And it can't get rained_   
_on. Or bloodstained._

**Sam** _  
I'm still not sure this is a good idea..._

 

 **Krissy**  
 _Oh relax. Most people seem to think_  
 _it's a roleplaying blog for some book_  
 _series called_ Supernatural _anyway._

 **Sam**  
 _Huh never heard of it._  
 _Oh hey didn't realize the time, I've gotta run_.

 **Krissy  
** _Yeah yeah. Get your beauty sleep :P_

 

Sam put his phone down and stared up into the darkness. Mentally, he added 'monitor Krissy's blog' to his list of things to do, because there was no way that was going to end well. Making knowledge of all the weird things that went bump in the night available on the internet was one thing, but making your personal hunting journal public was another. An 18-year-old girl had enough targets on her back online without adding web-savvy vampires, demons, and who knew what else.

...he really hoped she didn't Google the _Supernatural_ books.

"Sam."

"Gah!" Sam sat straight up as Castiel appeared at the foot of his bed. "You know, you could have just knocked." Sam fumbled for the lamp and clicked it on.

"I wasn't sure if you were sleeping. I kept my presence hidden while I checked, but, finding you awake, it seemed foolish to exit only to knock and re-enter."

"Uh... right," Sam said, eyeing Castiel. The angel was fully dressed, though the state of his hair and the earlier lightshow suggested that this had not been the case a short time ago. "Did Dean head out?"

"Yes. We may have the beginnings of a plan." Castiel filled Sam in on Crowley's informant in Heaven, and Dean's suggestion to use him to lure Crowley into a trap at some future date. He considered sharing Dean's plan to build his power base by teaching other demons the skills Alistair had taught him, but decided it would only worry Sam needlessly.

"Hang on a second, though, Cas," Sam said when (almost) everything had been explained. "Why _don't_ you reactivate the prophets? Do you know how?"

"I am relatively certain I could find out," Cas said. "But what would be the point? We have no tablets we need read. And as for foretelling the future, the prophets' visions have been coming from the angels for as long as God has been missing. So there's no point in bringing them back now. It would only make innocent people into targets."

"All right, that makes sense. So, undoing everything Metatron messed up is going pretty well, then?"

"We have determined how to repair most of the damage he did. Most things are simple in comparison to removing the barrier to Heaven, or retrieving my grace," Castiel said.

"You know, you never _did_ tell us how you managed that," Sam said. "Got your grace back, I mean."

Cas looked slightly surprised. "I did not think it would be of interest to you. So long as I am whole, there are larger concerns."

Sam laughed. "Cas, I'm a Man of Letters. Apparently." Sam's face twitched into a quick smile. He still found it amusing, having an identity with actual roots and a sense of continuity. Of permanence. "I want to know everything. And since I'm not going to get any more sleep tonight anyway, now might be a good time to update the angel lore." Sam grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from the drawer of his nightstand, drew up his knees to act as a writing desk, and looked up expectantly at Cas, who obliged.

"Restoring my grace turned out to be tied into breaking the barrier around Heaven. You see, grace cannot be destroyed--"

"Like conservation of energy?"

Cas frowned, not in displeasure, but in thought. Every once in a while when speaking with Cas, Sam got the sense that conveying his ideas on a level comprehensible to humans required a great deal of effort. This was one of those times. "Somewhat. Energy, while it cannot be destroyed, can be transformed. Grace is always grace. While you can lose it, it will always exist - somewhere."

"But what about when an angel is killed?"

"That's..." Cas sighed. "I used to believe that when an angel died, his grace was folded back into the power of God, and would live on with God eternally. But, now, with everything I've seen - I've _stolen_ grace, Sam," Cas said, the anguish plain in his voice. "Living angels being separated from their grace is one thing. This happened to me, it happened to Anna. But when an angel dies, their grace _departs_. I should not have been able to prevent that departure, and yet I did. Which makes me think it is a lesser power than God which calls the grace of a dead angel to itself. Maybe some repository somewhere that God created for that purpose..." Cas trailed off.

"Cas? You really think God made some big grace vault? Isn't it more likely that the grace burns up - I mean, that would explain the wing prints."

Cas shook his head. "I told you, the wings are a representation of our grace. They may burn, but the grace does not. Grace endures - or else everything we know about ourselves could be wrong."

Sam bit his lip and stopped writing. "Hey, Cas - look, you've found out that things weren't what you thought they were before. And if that's the case here, the consequences are way less severe than... those other times. It's gonna be all right."

"No, Sam, you don't understand. If we are right about the grace - if it does always exist, and gathers somewhere after an angel's death - then we could find it. We could use it. We could create more angels... the Host would be more than a match for the demons, who can constantly fill their ranks..."

"Hang on a second, Cas--"

"Sam, if you could raise your brother from the dead, wouldn't you?"

"Well, knowing what I know now, maybe not, but--"

"I have lost _thousands_ of my brothers and sisters, Sam. If they are not at peace with God, if their grace remains, hovering in the ether somewhere... if I could..."

"Cas, stop!" Sam said, slamming the notebook down on the bed. He wished they'd been at a table so the sound would have punctuated his words better, but his shout caught Cas's attention all the same. "You are drifting into 'Bow before your new god' territory again and I'm not gonna watch it this time. That's your only warning."

Cas stared at Sam, eyes wide. He nodded once, slowly, then again, more forcefully.

"Of course. You're right. I'm sorry, Sam." He shook his head. "It would require a great deal more research, anyway, and if our plan works it will be completely unnecessary. Heaven and Hell will be at peace."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time you're pissed at the upstairs neighbors because their bed has a squeaky spring, just think how much worse it would be if they were fucking angels. You'd probably lose wifi and have to reset all your clocks in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 

There was a sound of tearing flesh and a wet thud and Dean turned around with an exasperated sigh.

"Orion. Did you just disembowel your guy _again_?" Dean asked, though with said guy's intestines clearly outside his body, the question was largely rhetorical. "Dammit man, we talked about this. It's not about efficiency. Take your time. Now sew him up and start again. Try to hold off from the big finish at least ten minutes this time."

Orion, the demon in question, grumbled a little but did as he was told, hauling intestines back into one of the practice corpses Dean's students were working on. Dean turned back to Shara, whom he'd been advising before Orion's untimely evisceration.

"Where was I? Ah, right, you've got a thing for precision and that's great. But you're crippling yourself using tools like this." He took the heavy knife out of her hand and replaced it with a scalpel. "Surgical implements. Syringes. Needles. Scissors. Give 'em a try, see if that feels better to you." He clapped her on the shoulder and turned to his next student.

Some dozen demons were arrayed around a sterile lab that reminded Dean of high school biology class. It wasn't the environment he'd learned in: he'd learned on actual souls, surrounded by the dull red glow of banked coals and accompanied by the mind-shredding sound of hundreds of beings in pure agony. 

He'd convinced Crowley that this was not the way to go with these kids (though really, he ought to stop thinking of them like that. They were, every one of them, older than he was by decades and more, having twisted into demonhood the natural way). His argument had been that setting inept torturers on souls wouldn't do much for Hell's reputation, and that it was likely imprisoned souls were feeling more punished by Crowley's endless bureaucratic Hell - which, Dean was careful to point out, was much more efficient than the old ways of doing things. Rather, Dean would create master interrogators and warriors who knew exactly where to hit to crumple a foe. He would teach them the art of persuasion through pain, how to end a life quickly, and how to keep it barely intact for days, weeks, months... centuries. 

In theory, anyway. So far none of them had shown a particular aptitude for controlled violence. He was hoping for better results when he tested them for battle skills.

"Ok, Leela, right? Let's see what you've got." Dean looked her test corpse up and down. "Are you - have you been _fixing_ your corpse as you go? Who told you to do that?"

"No one..." Leela replied, fist clenching around the needle she'd been using. She sounded uncertain, but she didn't flinch from meeting Dean's eyes.

"Then why did you?"

"Well it makes sense, doesn't it? You want them alive as long as possible - fix them up as you go. Let the pain fade or it'll start to lose meaning."

"All right, Leela!" Dean said, grinning. He held up his hand for a high five and she looked at him blankly. Dean rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair instead. She tried to stab him with the needle and he took a step back with a nod of approval. "All right guys, Leela's gone on and moved to the next lesson without you. Come take a look here--"

"Dean!"

Dean looked over his shoulder. Crowley had arrived at the classroom, two demon goons flanking him. He did not look happy.

"Gimme a sec, we're almost done here," Dean said, turning back to his students. He was hardly even surprised to feel an enormous hand grab the back of his shirt and spin him around. Dean felt his eyes go black in response to the challenge and looked up into the face of Demon Goon Number 1.

Goon 1 responded by grabbing the front of Dean's shirt (seriously, with the shirt-grabbing - _this_ was why he wore layers) and lifting him just slightly. Dean rolled his eyes, not even bothering to drop his hand to the First Blade at his side. Instead, he shifted his gaze to the King of Hell.

"What do you want, Crowley?"

"A little respect would be nice. Just think of the example you're setting for these bright young minds," Crowley said, sauntering over. He nodded at Goon 1, who let Dean go but continued to loom, very much in his personal space. Goon 2 stayed behind Crowley and glared at the students, who were watching raptly. "But, as experience has taught me that you are likely biologically incapable of doing such a thing, I will settle for an explanation of where the _hell_ my Talmudic scholar has vanished to!"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What, that guy who helped me with the wards? How the hell should I know? Geez, Crowley, can't you keep track of your own demons?"

Goon 1 hit Dean with a hard right hook. But not nearly hard enough. Dean growled and slammed his fist into Goon 1's diaphragm just to show him how it was done. As the demon doubled over in pain, Dean grabbed his head and brought it into contact with his rising knee. There was a crack, and the demon screamed in pain. Dean still had hold of his head, and he used it to toss the demon aside contemptuously.

Goon 2 made to step forward, but Crowley held out a hand. "Am I really to believe," he began, apparently unconcerned that his bodyguard was having to struggle to his feet. "That a demon who has been perfectly content to sit in Hell and _think_ for his entire demonic existence, a demon so much a part of Hell that no one even noticed he was here, talks to you and then suddenly goes missing and it's just a _coincidence_?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. Except, oh, wait, _maybe_ you shouldn't have introduced a valuable demon to Sam fucking Winchester." At Crowley's look of apparent surprise and contrived innocence, Dean snorted. "Don't bother, I know that's how Sam figured out his cute little specialized devil's trap. But come on, Crowley, what'd you think was gonna happen? He's a hunter, you basically handed him a demon... this isn't rocket science. Your pet scholar probably got himself ganked."

Crowley scowled. "All right then. Find out. Or I will."

"Is that a threat?"

"Yes, it's a bloody threat! Find out if your overgrown brother killed my demon, or I will personally go to darling Sammy and start asking questions myself."

Before Dean could retort, Crowley and both his goons vanished. Dean turned back to the assembled students and glanced at their faces. What he saw did not displease him. "Well," he said. "I hope you all found that enlightening. Class dismissed, or whatever. Stay and practice if you want. Next time we'll cover non-vital organs. And how to break someone's face with your knee."

Dean turned to leave.

"Wait - Dean," one of the students toward the back called. Dean was pretty sure his name was Ravi.

"Yeah?"

"Could you take on Bael in a fair fight?"

"Who the fuck is Bael?"

That sent a murmur through the students. "Uh, he's the strongest. Besides Crowley, I mean. He's fought like, five angels. Even killed two of them."

Dean smirked. "Is that so."

"He's also the one whose face you broke with your knee," Orion mentioned.

"What, him?" Dean tried not to laugh. He was not entirely successful. "All right kids, gather round. Let me tell you something." They didn't exactly gather, but they definitely leaned in a little closer to hear what Dean was about to say. "First, yeah. I could take Bael in a fair fight. That's... yeah. Not a question. But I gotta ask - when's the last time you saw a demon fight _fair_?"

That got a few noises of appreciation out of them.

"I mean, if Bael came at me when I wasn't expecting it, or used some trick I don't know about, or ganged up on me with like, five of his buddies..." Dean shook his head. "Well, in that case... I'd _still_ take him apart without breaking a sweat."

An excited ripple went through the room and Dean raised his hands for quiet. "Now, I don't want you to go spreading that around. We're all on the same side here. Of course, just for the sake of education, if any of you wanted to bring a couple friends to the next class to learn exactly _how_ you would take down an opponent like Bael, I'd be ok with that. Never hurts to know how to take down someone who thinks they're more powerful than you.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an important errand to run for our esteemed ruler," he said, dropping exactly the right amount of sarcasm onto the last two words.

He turned and strode out, nearly cackling with glee. If it was going to be this easy, he should have taken over Hell years ago.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 

The demon strapped face-down to the cold metal table in the middle of a devil's trap, in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, in the middle of the United States, hissed at Dean.

"Now, Ian, use your words," Dean said absently, tuning the tattoo machine.

"I am going to peel your skin off one layer at a time and seal you in a cask of salt, you aberration!"

Dean grunted in acknowledgement. "Yeah man, look, you're the one who pissed off Crowley. Life's a bitch. On the bright side, this might not kill you."

Tattooing a squirming demon was going to be an adventure, to say the least. Dean considered the swearing, struggling subject in front of him. He was strapped down pretty well. The middle of his back was probably the spot that would see the least movement. Dean leaned over the demon and began, occasionally sticking an elbow in a nerve cluster to complete a detail.

It didn't take long to finish the anti-possession tattoo. Dean completed it with just a hint of trepidation, unsure of what exactly was going to happen.

He needn't have worried. Nothing happened except that Ian let out a low chuckle. "You done tickling me back there?"

"Shut up," Dean said, but his heart wasn't really in it. He shut off the tattoo machine and picked up his next set of tools - a pair of earplugs, which he inserted in his own ears, followed by a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. Once he was certain he could hear nothing, he pulled out his phone and hit play on a pre-recorded exorcism.

As the progress bar on the recording began to move, Dean watched Ian carefully. At first, the demon seemed still to be speaking normally. Then his eyes went black. His mouth opened in what was, to Dean, a silent scream. His back arced as much as it could against the restraints and his body stiffened into rigidity, then began spasming, every muscle straining.

The exorcism ended and Ian went limp. Dean removed his ear protection and examined the body. It looked to be completely dead. He gave it a poke. No response. Dean returned to his tray of tools, grabbed some holy water, and splashed it on the body, careful not to get any on himself.

The skin sizzled and smoked and Ian's eyes flew open. There was no bravado there anymore, only pain and a confused fear. He tried to jerk away when Dean came closer, apparently forgetting he was strapped down.

"Huh," said Dean. "Looks like you're stuck." His eyes skirted downward for a fraction of a second toward his own tattoo, obscured by layers of fabric. "Hm."

In one smooth motion, he drew the First Blade and stabbed it through the tattoo in the middle of Ian's back. The demon died with hardly a scream and Dean made sure that all traces of the tattoo were obscured before he disposed of the body.

*

Dean decided to pick the lock for old time's sake, rather than just appearing in the crappy motel room Sam was holed up in. The door gave way easily and Dean found himself in a room festooned with seashells and mermaids and what was up with these motel managers and their random-ass motifs anyway?

Sam didn't appear to be in - Dean could tell based on the fact that there wasn't a gun to his head the moment he poked it in the door - so Dean stole one of Sam's beers and kicked back on one of the sea urchin-printed bedspreads to wait.

Before too long, Sam's gun preceded him into the room. Given that it was around three AM and Dean had turned a light on to avoid being shot, this was not unexpected. As soon as Sam realized who was in the room he lowered the gun and let his shoulders slump. He was covered in blood from fingertips to shoulders, with a healthy splattering across his torso and face as well.

"Vampire nest," he explained before Dean could ask. Dean frowned.

"After dark?"

"That wasn't the plan, no. Fangbanger tipped 'em off. We had to move up our timetable. Hang on, Dean, I need to--" He gestured at himself and vanished into the bathroom. Dean heard the shower turn on a second later and knew he'd be waiting a while. Sam took forever in the shower. He stood and started going through Sam's hunt notes.

Most of it was pretty standard: growing number of deaths in town, shady characters moving in, all the usual suspects. Sam had been called in by Tracy Bell as backup and the two of them should have been able to pretty easily take out the nest - if it weren't for the vampire wannabe Sam had mentioned. Dean figured Tracy and Sam had found out this person had warned the vamps and had to take the fight to the nest before they descended on the town en masse. Not the well-prepared raid they'd planned.

Dean shook his head. Two hunters, going in relatively unprepared against a nest that knew they were coming? If it had been anyone other than Sam, Dean wouldn't have rated their odds of survival too highly, but his brother was hard to kill.

Sam emerged from the shower just as Dean was getting bored again. He pulled on clothes that were not covered in blood and then collapsed on one of the beds. Dean handed him a beer and Sam took it without even looking. He sat up long enough to take several large gulps, then fell back and flung his arm over his eyes.

"So, a whole nest with just two of you," Dean said. Sam grunted. "Can't have been easy," he went on.

"It was fine."

"I'm just sayin' Sam, you have my number. You need backup, a quick summon, I'm there."

Sam let out an exasperated exhalation that was part heavy sigh, part groan. "In case it's escaped you, Dean, I'm trying not to advertise your new... status to the whole hunting world."

"Oh come on, what are they gonna do to me?"

"Look, just leave it. I'm fine, the vamps are gone. Tracy's fine too, by the way, since you didn't ask."

"I figured. Otherwise you'd be moping around like a kicked puppy."

Sam sat up and gave Dean a concerned look. "Ok. Whatever. What's up Dean, why'd you come find me?"

"Got some answers for you," Dean said. He told Sam about the results of his research, most notably the fact that an anti-possession tattoo could keep a demon inside the body it was possessing. "I don't know if the same applies to me, but I don't really want to find out," he said after describing what Ian had gone through. Sam nodded, thoughtful.

"All right, so no exorcisms within earshot. That's easy enough. What about other things?"

"Salt's not a problem. Holy water burns like a bitch."

"Christo."

"Gah!" Dean flinched as his eyes flicked black, and then back to normal. "Dammit, Sam."

"Sorry. Sort of. Does it hurt?"

In response, Dean reached out, quick as only a demon could be, and flicked Sam's ear. "No. It's just damn annoying."

"All right, noted," Sam said, swatting Dean away. "Anything else?"

"Well I guess an angel might be able to take me out but that one's kind of hard to test."

"Right. Speaking of, have you talked to Cas lately?" Sam asked, stifling a yawn.

"Not since last time we were at the bunker. How long's that been up here?" Dean asked.

"About three weeks."

"Damn. Well, I've been busy. What's up with my angel?"

"I haven't seen him for a couple weeks either. But last time I talked to him, he mentioned something about trying to create more angels - searching for lost grace and using it. And then, not hearing from him for so long... I was hoping he'd been in touch with you."

"Nope. Been in Hell, Sammy. Not so easy for angels to come and go. Tell me more about this grace thing."

"I don't know, sounds like Cas thinks God set up angels so that when they die, their grace goes into some kind of repository. That this power could be accessible somehow."

"Really? And Cas wants to use it to create angels? That's..." Dean trailed off. "Well actually that might not be a bad idea," he mused.

"What?!" Sam demanded, sitting straight up. "Dean, doesn't this sound familiar to you? Cas tries to do something only God has been able to do in the past, and we all end up dead or close to it? Ringing any bells?"

Dean put up his hands in defense. "Ok, ok! I get it. What are the odds that there's some mystical source of power in Heaven that nobody's found yet, anyway?"

"That doesn't matter - you're supposed to be looking out for each other, remember? Keeping an eye out for things like this?"

"Yeah, ok." Dean took a deep breath. "Ok. You're right." He rubbed a hand down his face and shook his head. "Right. Sorry. Stick to the plan - then Cas won't even need to think about doing something like that."

"Exactly," Sam said, relieved. "Speaking of the original plan...We gotta assume Cas is doing his part, feeding info through the leak and following up on it." He slid back down to the pillows and scrubbed at his eyes. "If he suddenly shows up and says he's got an opportunity to take Crowley out, we good to go?"

"Close. I need just a little more time. People are starting to come around - turns out all I had to do was show them how to take out someone they thought was stronger than them," Dean said with a self-satisfied smirk. "Give it another week, two tops, and I'll be ready. No one else will stand a chance of taking Crowley's place once we gank him."

Sam didn't respond. Dean took a closer look and realized he was asleep. He tugged the mostly-empty beer bottle out of Sam's hand, made sure the chain was on the door and a weapon was in Sam's reach, and vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sea urchin bedspreads brought to you compliments of [DragonSorceress22](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/works). Because I couldn't think of anything else ocean-themed besides seashells and mermaids. Clearly I would suck at running a cheap-ass motel with a cheesy theme.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 

Dean's students did what he asked them to the first time now. And the size of his class had subtly swelled, new faces sneaking in wherever there was space. Dean pretended not to notice but he did accelerate the schedule, moving on from inflicting pain in a controlled environment to winning fights quickly, creatively, and brutally. Those types of lessons were easier for large groups, and they tended to get talked about quite a lot, which was what Dean needed.

He'd adopted Leela, Shara, and Ravi as sort-of lieutenants, and was eyeing Orion (who was much more competent when given a lot of space and not a lot of instructions) for the role as well. The four of them, plus a handful of random demons whose names Dean wasn't sure of, were with him now somewhere on the edges of Crowley's influence. The wasteland around them was hardly the endless bureaucracy Crowley had conceived as his seat of power - but he did still rule it. During Dean's time in Hell, though, this area (what the locals told him was still called the fourth circle, though it no longer resembled Dante's version) had been nothing but pits and flames. Hell had been full. But when you lined everyone up in an endless waiting room, it was amazing how much space opened up.

Dean was letting his four best students know what they were getting into during 'class' today so that they could supervise. The other demons were watching eagerly. Dean kept an eye on them. Either they were there because they wanted to join in, or Crowley had figured out what he was doing and had sent them to try and mess with him. They didn't look particularly strong - but then, demons never did.

"I'm starting to think we should move these parties upstairs," Dean commented. He had been explaining a few things he'd like to show them using tactics that only worked on the mortal plane - like luring your enemy into a devil's trap, or using salt and iron creatively.

"Do you really think we'll be fighting other demons though?" Orion said skeptically. "Angels are more like to be our problem."

"Fair enough," Dean said. "There's ways of dealing with them, too, though. They're gonna be stronger than you pretty much every time, but--" Dean broke off abruptly. Crowley had just appeared in their midst and he looked far too self-assured for Dean's comfort.

"Glad to see you taking your assignments so seriously, Dean."

"You come for a lesson, Crowley?"

"That depends. You find my missing demon yet?"

It took Dean a second. He had forgotten all about Tevye, who apparently was laying low, keeping his end of the deal. "Oh yeah, meant to tell you. Sam says he didn't kill him," Dean said. It wasn't even a lie. Of course, if Crowley thought Tevye _was_ dead, it might make things easier, but Dean wasn't sure how Crowley would react if he told him Sam had killed Tevye. Sam was competent, but no reason to take risks with him now.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And where is he? I did ask you to _find_ him, Dean, not just confirm his existence."

"Really? Because the instructions seemed kind of vague to me. Maybe you should have elaborated."

The other demons present were watching the back-and-forth like a tennis match.

"You know, I've indulged you, Dean. I blame myself," Crowley said with mock remorse. "First Knight of Hell in ages, mark of Cain and all that, new to the gig, plus all our history, I thought sure - give him time to adjust. But I send you on crossroads assignments and you only bring back souls so dim they couldn't power a Tamagotchi. I send you to recruit witches and you hand them grimoires full of Metallica lyrics. I think it's time you learned your damn place!"

Dean let one corner of his mouth kick up. "Was that pun intentional? My _damn_ place? Because Hell?" He looked around but the other demons just looked nervous. "Oh come on, that was funny."

"Fine. If you won't take me seriously, maybe your little friend Krissy will," Crowley said. 

"Krissy?" Dean said, senses suddenly sharpening and vision narrowing to focus on Crowley. His hand brushed against the First Blade, though he tried to appear relaxed. "Haven't spoken to her in like, two years," he said dismissively. 

"Nevertheless, I have a pack of demons tailing her now as she traipses about - what was it - ah yes, Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin with her ragtag band of misfits. Honestly, it's a miracle she hasn't noticed my boys yet, but what can I say, she's not Sam. She doesn't have his years of experience, the sheer height advantage, a magic knife, or anything, really, to help her out. So you fall in line. Or they do." Crowley's grin was downright nasty. "Or are you going to call down angels to protect her? Given that you're on such good terms with them."

The head of every demon there whipped toward Dean to see how he would react to that accusation. Dean had to admire it - Crowley was drawing attention to his past associations in a way calculated to undermine the new fanbase Dean was building. If Dean admitted that threatening some human girl was enough to get him to fall in line, he was weak. And if he ran off to rescue her, that would be even worse. But there was no way he was letting Crowley kill Krissy - if nothing else, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of having maneuvered Dean into a corner where that was the only outcome. In reality, though, Dean had one other option.

"Everyone grab on to someone and follow me," he ordered. His last sight as he fled Hell with the more alert demons right behind him was a look of sheer surprise on Crowley's face.

Dean couldn't let other demons out of Hell, but he could show them the way. Crowley probably thought Dean was shooting himself in the foot, going to Krissy's rescue, so he let them go. When Dean materialized on Earth, Wisconsin, Pleasant Prairie, he had six streams of black smoke with him - the demons who'd had the presence of mind to tail him closely enough to make it out. 

"Grab the nearest meat suits and get back here," Dean said. "You're not gonna wanna miss this." The demons streamed off - Dean had landed them right outside Ye Olde Motel (the only place a hunter in Pleasant Prairie would stay, he knew from experience) so there were probably plenty of slumbering people around to choose from. As for Dean, he bee-lined for the ground floor room nearest the fire escape.

The sudden sound of breaking glass from that direction told him he'd chosen right. Crowley must have given the word, because it sounded like a full-on battle. Dean rounded the corner of the building to find a demon having crashed through a large, low window that had once made up most of the wall of the motel room onto the pavement outside. It had dragged Josephine with it and as Dean watched, she emptied a clip into its stomach. 

They must have been normal rounds though, because the demon got back up, hardly missing a beat. Dean shook his head and tackled it from behind, taking it right back through the window and into the motel room. Josephine stared in astonishment and Dean heard several pairs of footfalls running toward them from outside.

His precipitous entry into the room had stalled the action momentarily. Six demons stared at Dean (the one on the floor made seven, but he was doing more flailing than staring). Aidan was motionless on the floor. Krissy - bless her, she had an angel blade in her hand. 

"Only seven?" Dean said, disappointed. "I could have handled this many as a human. This is gonna be pathetic," Dean said, cracking his knuckles and pulling the First Blade. He looked back over his shoulder, out the window to confirm that the people approaching were, in fact, his demons. They were.

As expected, Crowley's demons took that moment of seeming inattention to attack, and Dean took that moment of stupidity on their part to shove the First Blade through the first one's ribs, then spun to slit another one's throat. He knocked out a third, kicked the one on the ground in the head for good measure, and then dispatched two more with alacrity. The Blade sang in his hand, his blood resonated with the _rightness_ of it all - he had missed this. This was what he was built for.

The coterie of demons he brought with him were watching, fairly impressed, but Dean wasn't finished. Luckily, one of them had had the foresight to possess the motel manager, so they wouldn't have to worry about human interruptions. He slowed down on the final demon, messing with it while its two friends that had only been knocked out came 'round. 

Then, Dean dropped his aggressive stance, stepped back, and before the demon could charge him, said one word.

"Castiel."

He appeared instantly and a frisson of panic went through all of the demons, Crowley's and Dean's alike. Everyone knew that name, and everyone knew that face, and everyone knew that it was bad news for demons.

"Dean," Castiel said. He looked around at the assembled demons, then glanced a question at Dean.

"I'm bored with this fight, babe. Mop up for me," Dean said. Cas gave him a fleeting look that promised words later, but obliged.

The demon still on its feet actually tried to run, and it died first. Castiel dropped to one knee and eliminated the two recovering ones, then started toward Dean's students, who took a collective step backward looking like nothing so much as six black-eyed rabbits caught in the gaze of a coyote.

"Hang on. Those ones are with me," Dean said, coming up behind Cas and dragging a hand across his shoulders as he passed him to step out of the window and stand with the demons he'd brought along. The message was clearly 'I can touch this angel any time I want, and he won't stop me.'

"That's all I wanted. You can go," Dean said, deliberately turning his back on Castiel. Based on the sudden relaxation among the demons, he knew Cas had left.

Dean crossed his arms and looked each of them in the eye. "Any questions?"

"Uh - what about those humans?" Orion asked. Dean looked back into the room, which was an utter disaster. Josephine had slipped back in at some point and was trying to revive Aidan. Krissy stood over them both, angel blade at the ready, looking incredibly conflicted. Dean groaned silently to himself. He was hoping they would have hightailed it away by now. What was he supposed to do with them with all these demons watching?

Dean turned back to his class and shrugged. "Not my problem, man. I just came here 'cause Crowley was trying to play with me, and I don't like games. I don't care what happens to them," he said.

"Then... we could practice on some real humans," Leela said speculatively. Dean heard Josephine gasp.

"Yeah, I suppose," Dean said. "Go nuts. Watch out for that angel blade." He stepped aside and Leela moved forward eagerly, followed closely by Orion.

"Jo, grab Aidan and run," Krissy said softly. Of course every demon there could hear it, and all of them grinned. A few more moved to follow Orion and Leela through the window into the room.

"Oh, I should mention," Dean said, his back still to the room. "Sam Winchester's kind of fond of these kids." Dean could practically _feel_ the hesitation blossom in the air. He turned toward the room. "I'm not saying you can't do whatever, just warning you - be ready to look over your shoulder for a good long while after.

"Also, anyone who stays for the afterparty here is going to have to find their own way back to Hell. I've got some gloating to do that I don't really want to put off," Dean finished, and began casually walking away.

He measured his gait to give the demons time to weigh the value of tormenting three humans against being stuck on Earth with a vengeful Winchester and was not at all surprised when all six smoked out of their bodies and followed him back down to Hell.

He couldn't wait to see the look on Crowley's face when he realized that he had not only saved Krissy and her friends, but had actually enhanced his reputation doing so.

 

*

 

Krissy didn't put down the angel blade for a good ten minutes after Dean and the demons left. She held it while handing Josephine the supplies to take care of the cut on Aidan's head, she held it while Jo explained what Aidan had missed when he was finally lucid, she held it while she drew a devil's trap one-handed in front of the broken window and in front of the door.

If she had known Crowley was watching invisibly across the parking lot, she would have held onto it longer.

A Hellhound growled at his side and he put a calming hand on its head. He had considered letting it loose on the mini-hunters after Dean left, just to prove a point, but Dean's comment about Sam coming after anyone who hurt Krissy was actually valid. Sam made Crowley very nervous, and if that lumbering moose ever decided to sit down and put his mind to it, Crowley had no doubt he'd end up chained in Sam's basement doped to the gills on human blood. He had no desire to repeat that experience.

So he sent the hound back to its kennel, and began working out a different insurance plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the halfway point, my friends. 6 chapters and an epilogue to go in this part.
> 
> For those of you who have been following [Krissy's blog](http://hunter-slash-pediatrician.tumblr.com/), she's gonna take a wee break right about now due to being traumatized and all. Geez, Dean... not cool.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 

"It's done," Cas said by way of greeting, appearing in the bunker's library where Sam and Dean were waiting. When there wasn't much of a reaction, he looked from one to the other, trying to read that language that humans spoke with their bodies and figure out what was going on between them. 

Sam was on one side of the table, glaring at Dean. He had one hand on the table's surface and was tapping out a rhythm with his thumb - pent-up energy and annoyance, Castiel surmised. He didn't appear to be aware he was doing it.

Dean was slouched in a chair on the other side, arms crossed, scowling at the bookshelves behind Sam and ignoring his angry gaze.

"Sam. Dean. What's wrong?" Cas asked.

"Nothing's wrong," Dean said. "Sam's just having a bitch fit."

"You call Krissy ending up in the middle of half a dozen demons _nothing_?" Sam spat. "She called me right after it happened, Dean, and she was barely holding it together. She couldn't even tell me exactly what had happened, only that there were demons, and you turned up, and now you won't give me any details except to say 'it's fine'? I'm not okay with this on several levels!"

"She's a hunter, Sam, she's gonna run into demons!"

"She's _eighteen_."

"We weren't much older than that when we took on our first one, and we didn't have half the knowledge she's got now. You had to know it would happen eventually, or you wouldn't have given her that angel blade - I mean, that _was_ you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but - call me crazy, I was just hoping she might avoid some of the crap we had to go through." Sam raked his hands through his hair and sat back, deflating. "Can you promise me the attack had nothing to do with you?"

"Of course it didn't. I just got wind she was in trouble and went to help. That's it." Dean said. Cas very carefully said nothing.

"Well whatever you did to help scared her. She's still really attached to you, you get that, right?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. He didn't really get it, no - but he hadn't understood kids getting attached to him when he'd been human either. "Look, Sam, I'm sorry this happened to her - but that's all the more reason to get Crowley out and me in as soon as we can. Cas, did you say you set it up?" 

Cas nodded, relieved that the conversation had moved to safer ground. He was unsure of his footing when it came to the sort of half-truths and evasive comments that made up the bulk of the Winchesters' communication with each other, and he hadn't had a chance to speak with Dean since the incident in question.

"So, where did you tell him?" Sam asked.

"An empty home just outside of Salt Lake City," Cas said. He and Sam had worked out the outline of a plan after getting word from Dean that he was ready to move. The information they'd given the leak was that a few angels were being sent to collect the person who was to become the first of the new line of prophets, setting up a defense before the prophet was actually activated. They assumed that Crowley would at least want to know who the prophet was, and at the most would want to try to capture another angel to get the new list of prophets' names.

"I guess all we can do now is wait," Sam said. "And hope Crowley comes himself."

"He will," Dean said. "And he won't have many demons with him. There aren't many left these days who would side with him over me in a flat-out confrontation."

"Good. I'll start gathering supplies. Cas, do you have a layout of the house we're using?" Sam asked.

Cas did, and he and Sam began working out the best way to execute their trap. Dean contributed a few suggestions here and there, but mostly made himself useful making sure Sam didn't run out of coffee. He even made it himself, which Sam took as a sign that Dean actually was sorry about the situation with Krissy.

It was well past midnight by the time they were finished to everyone's satisfaction, and Sam noticed between yawns that Cas was eyeing Dean with a certain amount of intent. He stretched exaggeratedly and unfolded himself from the chair.

"Well," Sam announced. "I'm gonna go get some shut-eye. In my room. With the door closed. And headphones on."

"Good night, Sam," Cas said seriously. Sam just smiled and left the two of them alone.

Cas turned to Dean, mouth already open to ask him exactly what he was trying to keep from Sam. Dean, however, was never one to waste an opportunity and was already directly behind him when he turned, ready to take advantage of those parted lips.

Dean kissed Cas as if he had had to ignore the urge to do so for weeks. He kissed him as though he needed the contact to survive, as though the only air worth breathing was that which was drawn from Castiel's lips, as though all he was struggling for was this moment, which lacked nothing save eternity to achieve perfection. And these things were true.

Dean broke the kiss so that he could look at Cas, gaining distance enough to see the angel blink twice, rapidly - Castiel's version of collecting himself, Dean had long since gathered - and continue as though he had not been interrupted.

"Dean, we need to talk."

Dean huffed out a little laugh and pressed his forehead to Cas's because his angel had no idea of the cultural weight of those words, infinite pop culture knowledge or no. Anyone else, and Dean might have worried. But Cas always meant exactly what he said.

"Ok," said Dean, stepping back and leaning against the table. "What's up?"

"What was really going on in that motel room, with the demons who attacked Krissy Chambers and her companions?" Cas asked.

"It was a power play. Crowley was trying to make me lose face. He knows I'm gaining influence, and he doesn't like it."

"I take it your countermeasure was successful?"

"Yeah, thanks for that by the way. You know most demons are scared shitless of you? Castiel, the angel who came to Hell and could come back for any one of them at any time."

"It's not actually that simple," Cas said, but Dean just shook his head.

"Doesn't matter. It's all about impressions."

"Very well. But Dean, why keep this from Sam?"

"You saw how he got when he just thought it was a random demon attack," Dean said, looking at the floor. "I mean, Cas, I - let's just say Krissy had a good reason to be scared. I'm not proud of how I handled her and her friends, and if Sam doesn't need to know about it, then I don't want him to know about it." He glanced up at Cas, worried at what he might see on the angel's face. But it was only a small smile reflected in gentle eyes.

"Every time I begin to worry about you, Dean, you prove that I have no need." He reached out and touched the side of Dean's face, thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. "You are a remarkable person, Dean Winchester."

"Not really a person anymore, Cas."

"Are you certain of that?"

Dean didn't know how to respond to that, so he just ducked his head, embarrassed. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

Cas considered for a few moments. "Yes. That is all."

"Good," Dean said, and continued from where they had left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Everything's gonna be _fine_. It's not like there's... six more chapters and a whole 'nother fic to go before the end.......


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 

Sam was bleeding freely from a head wound, Dean's eyes were black and would not fade, and Castiel had been hard pressed enough that he was now holding not one, but two angel blades and was slightly out of breath. But Crowley was in the trap and every single other demon he'd brought with him was dead.

In the end, Castiel had literally had to pick him up and throw him into one of the devil's traps they'd hidden around the house, but it had worked. They had him stuck and seething and now it was just up to Dean to decide how best to dispatch him. 

Castiel passed his hand over Sam's face to heal the head wound and Sam straightened when the pain vanished. 

"So, Dean - we talkin' public execution or private?" Sam asked.

"How about neither?" Crowley put in.

"Shut up, Crowley," Sam and Dean said at the same time.

"No, really boys. I really don't think you want to kill me."

"Well, let's find out," Dean said, gripping the First Blade more tightly and taking a determined stride toward Crowley before Sam grabbed his shoulder, stopping him short. "Oh, _come on_ Sam!" Over the course of the evening, Dean had been shot twice and had found that two of his students were spies for Crowley (not that he had told Sam the bit about them being his students) and it had made him cranky. Which translated to bloodthirsty.

Sam shrugged an apology at his brother, then turned to Crowley. "Ok, I'll bite. Why don't we want to kill you?" he asked. 

"Because then you'll never find poor Kevin Tran."

There was silence as Dean, Cas, and Sam all looked at each other in confusion.

"The prophet is dead," Castiel said, finally. Crowley rolled his eyes. 

"Dead but not forgotten. Or gone. Did you expect him to leave dear old mum when you reopened Heaven? Because he didn't. Not of his own accord, anyway." 

"Oh please. You expect us to believe you?" Sam scoffed. "Like Mrs. Tran would ever let you walk off with--" Sam stopped cold and paled. "You didn't..." 

"What? Do away with the old bird?" Crowley grinned nastily and this time Sam did not stop Dean as he raised the Blade and stepped forward. "But no," Crowley finished hastily, eyeing Dean. "She's fine. Happy, even. But I'm the only one who knows where her adorable little moppet is, and unless you want him to spend the rest of his afterlife _incredibly_ uncomfortable, you won't shuffle me off this mortal coil just yet."

Dean just smirked at him. "Cas?" 

"I'm looking," Cas said, eyes distant. He was statue-still and Dean watched him impatiently, twirling the Blade. But Sam watched Crowley, and he still looked far too smug for Sam's taste. Sam had a sinking feeling he knew what the result of Cas's search would be. It was confirmed shortly when Cas's eyes came back into focus and he shook his head. Dean swore and Crowley's smirk turned into an open, gloating grin.

"So he's somewhere warded against angels? Doesn't mean we won't find him eventually, Crowley."

"Oh, I'm sure of it. But until then, can you really afford to eliminate your only source of information?"

"Probably," Dean said.

"Dean," Sam said, and dragged him over with Cas to have a hurried, whispered conversation. "I don't like what he said about Kevin being 'uncomfortable'. What could he do to a ghost?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's got the ring he's possessing on a slow burn somewhere? Not enough to melt it down, just enough to make Kevin nervous?" Dean hazarded.

"But what would be the point? Why not just hide it somewhere? Why go to the extra trouble of an elaborate set-up like that?" Sam wondered.

"Because it's _Crowley_."

"He may have taken the ring to Hell," Cas said. "Strain on Kevin Tran's spirit in Hell would be incidental to the hiding place, not intended."

"Oh great..." said Sam.

"Yes, great!" said Dean. "We gank Crowley here and now, I rule Hell, and order my thousands of minions to find the damn ring. Problem solved."

"We don't know for _sure_ it's in Hell, Dean. Maybe we should just... hang on to Crowley for now. Might be able to get the location out of him." Sam could practically hear Dean grinding his teeth at that.

"Sam's way does seem the more prudent," Castiel put in, and Dean knew he had lost this argument. "You have shown in the past that you are able to hold Crowley effectively. His absence from Hell should allow you to take power in much the same way as his death."

"It's not gonna be as neat as it could be, but... yeah, I could do it," Dean said. "We'll have holdout among the crossroads demons. They don't like me and they're really loyal to him. Luckily, they're a minority." 

"All right then. Let's get the manacles on him and get him back to the bunker. We can put him in his old room," Sam said. They turned back to Crowley, who was making a show of examining his nails nonchalantly.

"So, what's it to be boys?" he said.

"If you wanted to be roomies again, Crowley, you should have just said so," Dean said, holding up a hand and letting the devil's trap-etched manacles dangle from one thumb. Crowley looked on them with profound distaste, but there was nothing he could do against both Cas and Dean entering the trap and confining him with them.

They couldn't teleport Crowley directly into the bunker, since the wards would stop him unless he was summoned by someone inside, so Castiel took charge of Crowley and Dean took Sam and they appeared just outside the door and wrestled the King of Hell in and down the stairs.

Before long, he was ensconced firmly in the dungeon, bound hand and foot, and circled by so many devil's traps it was a wonder he could blink.

"So what now?" he asked sullenly.

"Now?" Sam replied. "Nothing. I mean, unless you want to tell us where Kevin is? No? Then nothing. You sit here in the dark, alone, while Dean takes your throne. I'll come back in a few weeks to check on you." Sam hauled the doors closed on Crowley's muffled protests.

"You really gonna leave him there for weeks?" Dean asked with an arched eyebrow. Sam shrugged.

"Maybe. You know Crowley, that'll be the most effective torture. He might talk without us having to lift a finger."

"Kinda slow," Dean pointed out.

"Tell you what - you get down to Hell, solidify your position, look for Kevin. Me and Cas will look up here, too. Once you're... crowned or however that works, if we still haven't found Kevin, you can do whatever you think will get answers out of Crowley."

"Yeah. All right. Guess I better get to work." His gaze lingered on Cas for a few extra moments, and then he was gone.

 

*

 

Ravi and Leela were waiting for Dean when he arrived in Hell, which was a neat trick as he made it a habit not to appear in predictable patterns.

"Orion and Shara are covering other sectors," Leela confessed. "We just got lucky."

"So how did it go?" Ravi asked. Dean looked at him askance.

"What?"

"C'mon boss, everyone knows you've been planning something for a while. What'd you go topside for?"

Dean considered for a few moments before deciding that yes, he was done playing games. "To take out Crowley."

Ravi laughed, but Leela took him seriously. "And?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"And he is no longer a factor in the ruling of Hell," Dean said, and he couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Hell's mine now, kids. Go tell your friends. Anyone who's got an issue with that can come find me. Feel free to point the way."

Leela's smile was fierce, all teeth. Ravi looked like his eyes were about to pop out of his head.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Dean barked. "Scram. Get the others, tell 'em to prepare for a regime change. Cause all this?" Dean gestured around at the wasteland around them, the shuffling lines of souls in the distance, the few low buildings that contained slow circles of endless red tape for the souls doomed to spend eternity there, and, far off, the pits that contained the more traditional cells for the souls doomed by contract to more tangible torments. "This is gonna change."

Leela nodded once and dashed off. Ravi hesitated only half a second before trailing after her.

Dean turned toward the pits of contracted souls. He had an old friend to look up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Kevin. Supernatural's resident damsel in distress. Guy can't even catch a break when he's dead.
> 
> And who on earth (or in Hell I suppose) is Dean looking for?
> 
> My friends, the next chapter comes with couple of trigger warnings so this is a good time to remind you - if you ever see something in one of my fics you think should be in the tags, or something you wish you had been warned about, please just let me know. I'm happy to make some adjustments to keep the reading experience safe and happy for everyone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with trigger warnings for child abuse and heavily implied sexual abuse. If you'd like to skip that bit, hit CTRL+F and type 'freckles' (without the quotes). That'll take you right past it.
> 
> (If you're on a Mac, you want CMD+F)
> 
> As always, if you notice something in any of my work that you feel should be noted as a trigger, please do let me know!

**Chapter 10**

 

The minute hand moved infinitesimally closer to the six. The hour hand hovered directly between the three and the four. It was almost time.

This was the worst part of the day. It was always the worst part of the day.

A somewhat scrawny girl with plain brown hair and dark circles under her eyes shifted uncomfortably at her desk, the thin fabric of her uniform skirt doing little to protect from the hard, molded plastic chair. She noticed her knuckles were white where she clutched the edge of the desk and she made herself let go then shot her gaze back to the clock again.

The minute hand moved infinitesimally closer to the six. The hour hand hovered between three and four.

It was always the worst part of the day.

Her eyes darted around to her classmates, but their faces were all blank as they sat calmly at their desks. The chalkboard at the front of the room was filled with notes she was supposed to be taking, but she couldn't read them. She couldn't focus on anything other than the fact that the minute hand was moving, infinitesimally, closer to the six.

Her heart sped up because she was going to have to stand soon, was going to have to walk out of here with her classmates under her own power, and he would be waiting with the car and she would get in even though no one forced her, and he'd ask about her day on the way home and casually mention that Mom was out of town on business and she'd want to vomit, but he wouldn't like that, no, not at all.

It was almost time and if she didn't get up and leave then he would come in and find her and that would be worse.

There had to be a way out, something she hadn't thought of, something she could do, because she couldn't even fathom allowing her body to walk itself out to the car, couldn't envision this happening to her despite that she _knew_ it would, any moment now, as soon as the minute hand finished its imperceptible progress...

She thought she'd surely pass out from the way her heart was racing, how she was sweating but freezing, how the whole room seemed to narrow in on that clock. Her vision went fuzzy at the edges and she took deep gulping breaths down a throat tight with panic.

And then he walked in.

"No," she croaked. "Nononono it's not time yet, I'm not late."

He didn't say anything, just walked straight past the other students and up to her desk, looming over her. None of them reacted. Her eyes flicked to one, then another, but always darted right back to the threat. He was going to hurt her. Right here. In front of everyone. And then they'd all know. No one would help her.

He reached out for her and she couldn't help it - she shrank away, trying to hide behind one upraised arm. He wouldn't like that, he liked to see her face, but it was blotchy and tearstained now and she couldn't _help_ it: he grabbed her arm and she screamed.

"--not real! Bela! Snap out of it!" a voice was shouting. She opened her eyes and looked up at the man who had hold of her wrist. It wasn't _him_. It was someone else. Someone she didn't know. Tall, blondish hair, greenish eyes, just a hint of freckles - a face that might be attractive if he wasn't scowling furiously at her. She stared back at him, shaking.

"I don't know what you're seeing, but it ain't real," the guy said. "You're in Hell, Bela. You sold your soul to a demon. In Earth terms, it's 2014 and I need you to _wake up_."

Bela continued to stare at him, but less so now because she was scared and more because he sounded absolutely crazy - but not _completely_ crazy. Her brain was trying to tell her something, to get something through the flood of panic.

"Oh for - come on." He hauled her out of her chair and literally threw her over his shoulder and strode out of the classroom. The panic set in again and she kicked and struggled - right up until they cleared the door and the whole school _melted._

The guy set her down on her feet and she shook her head to clear it. Things were making sense. She was remembering...

"I... know you."

"Finally," he said, crossing his arms.

"How did you... where... wait, why am I fourteen?" Even as she said it, though, her perception of herself changed and she was suddenly the same 24-year-old she'd been in 2008 when she was dragged down to Hell. Her clothes changed, too, thankfully.

"Long story short, Hell's mine now and I need you to find something for me," Dean said.

Bela looked around. There was no trace of the cell where she'd spent the last six years (or 720 years, depending on your perspective) in a perpetual state of dreadful, panicked anticipation. She blinked rapidly, feeling her grip on sanity slipping. She just needed...to... hold it together...

"Hell's... yours?" she asked, trying to distract her mind. In response, Dean let his eyes flicker to black and then back again. Bela pressed one hand over her mouth, but a giggle escaped anyway. And then another one. And then she couldn't stop laughing, not for breath and not for sanity.

Dean let this go on for about thirty seconds, then rolled his eyes and slapped her. She stopped laughing abruptly, stared at him in apparent wonder for a few moments, then started laughing again, her hysterics growing more wild by the moment. Dean growled and raised his hand to hit her again--

But she caught his hand before it could connect, slammed her heel into his insole, and rammed his nose with her forehead. Dean reeled back, then recovered, hand flying to his face, which wasn't even particularly hurt.

"What the hell, Bela?"

"I'm not to be touched," she said, staring at a point somewhere over his left shoulder. "I think I shall go mad. Yes. This seems to be the best way of proceeding."

"O...k. Well look, I need you to find something for me," Dean said. "That is your specialty, remember? Finding things?"

"Is it him? I found him," she said, pointing over Dean's shoulder. Dean turned, but there was nothing there.

"Uh, no. It's a ring, Bela. It's got a spirit attached to it, a ghost named Kevin Tran. Crowley stole it and hid it somewhere and I need to find it so I can kill him."

Bela flinched away abruptly, ducking to the right to dodge something Dean couldn't see, her eyes wide and darting, and suddenly Dean recognized the symptoms.

"Aw crap, not again. Bela, hey." He snapped his fingers in front of her face until she focused on him. "Hey! You're hallucinating. It's the torture, it's..." Dean did a quick mental calculation and sucked in a breath. She'd been down here for over 700 years, by her timeframe. "They've been working on you a long time, ok, but look, I'm in charge down here now, and you're done. I just need you to do this one thing for me."

"He makes promises," she informed the empty air next to her. "They are not to be believed." Then she focused on him abruptly, eyes intent. "Why did you melt my school? They aren't happy about that."

"That wasn't your school. You're in Hell. I rule Hell - you know, sort of. So far. But that means if I don't want something there, it ain't there."

"Tell that to them," she said, jerking her head to the side, then raising an arm suddenly to ward off a blow from something Dean couldn't see. He tried to focus and _will_ Bela to see only what he saw, but apparently Hell wasn't quite that simple to manipulate. Dean took a deep breath, and had a thought.

"They're spirits, Bela. You know spirits. You work with them all the time. And we know how to handle spirits."

"Salt. Iron. Fire," Bela whispered.

"Yeah. Now we're in Hell, so there's special rules," Dean said, making things up as he went along. "I'm going to draw a circle around you, and it'll keep them all away. They can't hurt you. And pretty soon I'll have a safer spot for you to go, but you just gotta do your thing and find that ring for me, all right?" If Bela believed that her hallucinations couldn't hurt her, then they couldn't, Dean reasoned. After all, they were only manifestations of her mind continuing to torture itself here in Hell - that's what the whole place was designed to do to a person. So if you could convince the mind it wasn't being tortured...

Dean drew the circle and Bela drew a deep breath. When it was complete, she nodded. "It's working. They're staying back. But they're still angry."

"Find me that ring, and I'll take you somewhere you'll be safe from them forever," Dean promised, though he wasn't entirely certain yet where that might be. Bela was just a soul; she hadn't transformed into a demon. If he took her to Earth, she'd just float away into Heaven (or maybe even back down to Hell) and he still needed her. Well, it was something to plan for later.

"Ok. Ok," Bela collected herself and a little of her old fire came back into her eyes. "Tell me about this ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dean. Why does he always have to deal with the hallucinating, Hell-mad ones? (And occasionally the bee-obsessed ones)
> 
> Here's hoping Bela can keep it together long enough to help our poor, benighted prophet-ghost.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 

Bela was on the hunt, as well as she could be in her condition. Dean had gone back to Earth to pick up plenty of salt for her to carry with her. It was useless against demons in Hell, but it seemed to reassure Bela enough that she was able to begin working. She said she would have to try some different methods of contacting spirits, though, since she was on another plane now. She'd need time. Dean gave her his blessing, then set Leela to watching her to make sure no one messed with a stray soul roaming around Hell looking for a lost ring.

Then Dean set off on his next errand. This one also involved rings, and a lot of walking, and it wasn't nearly as fun or scenic as those stupid Peter Jackson movies had made it seem. But Dean needed some answers, and he knew only one place to get them. 

He held the rings of War, Famine, and Pestilence and began his trek toward the inner circles of Hell. He was hoping they'd help point the way when he got close, for no demon knew precisely where the Cage was.

Dean had hope, though. Castiel had been there. Death had been there. It was possible. If it came down to it, he supposed he could always head to that convent in Maryland and give the long-distance communication thing a shot, but he had no particular desire to murder a bunch of nuns to do so. He'd have a real hard time explaining that one to Cas. 

And so Dean traveled the circles of Hell, moving quickly out of Crowley's sphere of influence (which hadn't extended much past the fifth circle). As he traveled, Hell began more to resemble the place he remembered from his own sojourn there while still human: the traditional flames, and pits. Though it was fairly empty. It seemed most demons stuck close to the center of power. A few unlucky, forgotten souls still roasted here and there, but Dean paid them no mind. 

Eventually he crossed what appeared to be a burning river, and then it was burning rain, but none of it bothered him. Hell recognized its own, it would seem. But there were other things down here that didn't. As Dean approached a craggy stretch filled with deep ravines spanned by narrow rock bridges, he began to hear evidence that he wasn't the only thing hunting in this area. 

Sure enough, before long an enormous harpy swooped down at him. Dean drew the First Blade and sliced a wing off in the same motion, and that was that, but the message was clear: demons were fair game. 

As he traveled further he encountered a few more harpies, and eventually Hellhounds. Those gave him pause. At least he could _see_ them here, but these looked even meaner than the ones Crowley kept. Dean set his shoulders, gripped the blade, and tried to walk like an alpha predator. 

And that was how he came to the frozen heart of Hell coated in the blood of several Hellhounds - and some of his own as well. The blood sizzled as it dripped onto the ice, which spread out ahead past what Dean could see. And it was _cold_ , a sensation he'd never really thought he'd feel again. Gritting his teeth, he moved forward, setting his feet carefully. There were things frozen in the ice that he definitely did not want to wake. 

Here, the rings did what Dean had hoped they might: tugged subtly in the direction of Lucifer (or at least, he hoped that was what they were leading him to). Without them, Dean might have wandered the ice for years, directionless: there were no landmarks to measure distance by, and not only was it freezing, there was a strong wind blowing frost and snow into his eyes almost constantly. Visibility was very poor, to put it lightly, but Dean shoved on, following the slight tug of the Horsemen's rings. 

The ice went on past all reasoning. The blood soaking Dean's clothes, skin, and hair turned sticky, then hard, cracking as he moved. He still had the First Blade out, though now it was for the strength it loaned him rather than out of any concern that he might be attacked. Nothing could live out here.

... except _that_.

In the distance loomed what Dean had at first taken to be a mountain, until it moved. It was a giant - a proper, fifteen-foot tall giant wielding a club and doing nothing much except for shifting from foot to foot occasionally. The giant was rimed with frost, so much so that his skin, hair, clothing, and even the club were completely white. Dean wondered how well he could see.

"HALT. WHO GOES?"

Well enough, apparently. The words were like thunder, spoken slowly so that smaller ears could comprehend them. The giant turned ponderously toward Dean and the ice shook. Dean swallowed hard and raised the First Blade, wondering how in the world one was supposed to fight something like this. 

The giant knelt and squinted down at Dean. Then he blinked and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. Icicles the size of baseball bats crashed down around Dean and he ducked. The giant peered down at him.

"AH. IT IS CAIN. CAIN IS PERMITTED HERE," the giant said, though who he was talking to was a mystery. Dean watched in astonishment as he rose and lumbered away without another glance at Dean. Could it be that simple?

Dean inched forward, keeping an eye on the giant as he did so. But the enormous man seemed to have no more interest in Dean, and left him to approach what he had been guarding. 

Which was an enormous pit. Wind howled up from it in great gusts, nearly knocking Dean backward as he peered over the lip. Near the bottom, Dean could make out the flicker of fire, but that was a _long_ way off. Dean looked around for a way to get down there. 

There were several enormous chains bolted into the ice around the pit, each link nearly as long as Dean's arm. Whatever they had once held was long gone. None of them looked like they would reach the bottom, but Dean didn't see any other options. The walls of the pit were slick with sheets of ice, so climbing was out of the question, and it wasn't like God had carved a staircase here when he'd flung Lucifer down. Dean grabbed the longest of the chains and hauled it over the edge, then started his climb. 

Luckily, the chains came to an end well past the last of the ice, where the walls became craggy and rock-like. Dean figured he'd probably be able to climb it, and carve extra footholds with the Blade if he needed to.

He was more-or-less correct. What he had not reckoned on was the fact that the floor of the pit was fire. Not _on_ fire. It _was_ fire. There was literally nowhere to stand. Dean clung to the wall and gazed down at the conflagration below. 

The flames were burning with no fuel and Dean realized that he had seen this type of fire before. It was holy fire, a huge amount of it, the only thing that could contain two archangels, burning endlessly just because God had told it to. 

In the center of the pit was the Cage. Its bars were flame given form, crisscrossing above and around its sole inhabitant. Occasionally molten fire would drip from the top of the Cage and sear the crouched form in the center and he would cry out and his flesh would burn - and then he would heal. Until the next flame struck him. 

It was Adam. The form huddled and screaming and twitching in that cage was Adam and there was no trace of Lucifer or Michael - just the obvious result of what they were doing to him. 

"Hey! Satan!" Dean yelled from where he clung to the wall. Adam looked up with a start. Then his eyes flashed and he stood smoothly, smiling. 

"Dean Winchester," he said, licking his lips. His eyes flashed again.

"My _vessel_ ,"

Oh great.

"Shut up Michael, I need your brother."

"You _dare_ speak to _me_ \--"

"You'll have to forgive Michael, Dean. He didn't learn his lesson about dealing with Winchesters," Lucifer cut in, taking over. "Come down, stay for a spell."

The earth rumbled, nearly dislodging Dean, and a giant sheet of ice fell to the floor. It sizzled as it landed, but didn't melt.

"Hell ice," Lucifer said. "Hardy stuff. You have until it melts to say what you have to say."

Dean dropped to the sheet of ice with a grunt. Its surface was already slick with moisture as the flames worked on it.

"So what can I--"

" _Fool_ of a human, seeking to bargain with Lucifer!" Michael raged suddenly, interrupting his brother. "Say yes to me now, and I will carry us both from this place." 

Dean let his eyes flick to black. "Sorry buddy, only one angel's allowed inside me."

Adam's face contorted in a grimace of rage, then suddenly turned to laughter as Lucifer wrested control back.

"I forgot how entertaining Winchesters are when they're not reduced to gibbering messes," Lucifer said. "So. Dean. You're one of mine now. Come to pay your respects?"

"Yeah, sure. Look, I got questions and this ice is getting kinda slushy, so you think you can keep your douchebag brother quiet for a while?"

"Oh, certainly. You know I live to assist others when there's nothing in it for me."

"Who says there's nothing in it for you?"

"Hmm, intriguing. What could you possibly offer me?"

"Depends on your answers."

"Uh huh. Sure it does. Well, you might as well ask. It's not as though I have anything better to do. The sight of you all demonified is making Michael simply incoherent with rage, which is pretty amusing. Besides, breaking poor Adam's mind became tedious a century ago." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "He didn't have Sam's training, you know." 

Dean ignored that. "I need to know about how you Fell."

Lucifer laughed. "Come on, everyone knows that. I disobeyed God and God couldn't handle it. You must know all about controlling fathers, Dean."

The ice shifted under Dean's feet. "Yeah, give me details. I've seen a lot of angels come crashing down, and not one of them ended up with their own personal plane of existence dedicated to imprisonment and torture. None of them even fell further than Earth. So what makes you so special?"

Adam's face took on a mournful expression. "I loved my Father, Dean. Understand that. But he couldn't see that his ill-wrought creation, though he loved it, would eventually hurt him - and when I showed him that, he struck out against me. Again, I think you can understand that." Lucifer exhaled a heavy sigh. "Honestly, I've come to terms with it, and I've forgiven him."

"LIES!" Michael was back and Dean rolled his eyes. "Surely you must know better than to believe one poisonous word that drips from the mouth of this snake, Dean Winchester."

"Oh yeah? Then what's the truth?" Dean asked.

"Lucifer was banished, just as other angels you have known. He was cast down to Earth to live amongst humans, punishment enough for any angel. But Lucifer rebelled further. He snatched the very power of creation from my father's hands and twisted his first demons - he whose mark you bear was crafted thus."

"I thought to make a demon you just stripped away someone's humanity."

Michael gave him a pitying look with Adam's face. "Foolish boy. What do you think 'humanity' is, if not a sliver of God's grace? _That_ is what your black eyes and that mark on your arm mean: that all that was good and light in you has been twisted asunder. And _that_ is the transgression that earned Lucifer this punishment, and _that_ is why angels and demons will always fight: because it were better that you had died than lived to have twisted God's grace into _this_." 

"Hm. Interesting. Ok, good talk, have a nice rest of eternity," Dean said, turning to leave. The ice he was standing on had shrunk to an area about three feet wide, but it was still solid enough that he'd be able to launch himself off of it and back up to his last handhold on the pit's wall. He wasn't really looking forward to the climb out, though. He wondered if he could just teleport to Earth from here.

"Wait," Michael said. Dean turned back.

"Make it quick, I got places to be."

"I could heal you, Dean Winchester. Push the taint out of your soul."

"Oh yeah? And all it would cost me is one little 'yes', right? Fuck you, Michael."

Adam's face purpled with Michael's rage, and his eyes flashed again. Dean expected Lucifer to emerge but instead, Adam collapsed in front of him with a hoarse shout. He shuddered once, twice, huddled before an astonished Dean before looking up slowly. Eyes clouded with pain and madness met Dean's. 

"Dean," Adam whispered. His voice was the raw scrape of sandpaper on stone. "Help me. Please."

Dean scowled and turned away, leaping back to the cavern wall and just barely making his handhold. Adam's screams followed him all the way back up the pit.

 

*

 

Traveling back to the local circles of Hell was much simpler. Very few things wanted to mess with something coming from the center of Lucifer's influence, particularly not something crusted in dried blood and hellfrost. Dean could feel it when he crossed from the deep part of Hell to the area where the King of Hell held sway, though, and he was glad to be back. It was beginning to feel _familiar_ , in a deeper way than the simple recognition of landmarks. When Dean set foot on an actual asphalt road, with a yellow line painted down the center and everything, he knew: regardless of whether or not Crowley was still alive, Hell was truly _his_ now, and it was shaping itself to his needs.

The demons swarming toward the road didn't even give him pause. Orion and Shara ran out ahead of them to walk beside him and glare threateningly at the masses, but the crowd just watched. They knew where he had been. Their gazes were ones of admiration and fear. 

"Some are saying you went to kill Lucifer," Orion told him as they walked. "Some are saying you went to get his blessing." Dean snorted.

"Let 'em talk."

"You gonna tell us what you _were_ doing, boss?" Shara asked.

"Nope," said Dean. "Now you two can scram - find me Leela and the soul she's shadowing, and if you run into Ravi send him to me. We've got some planning to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outer reaches of Hell here are pretty obviously based on Dante's _Inferno_ \- harpies, burning rain, wild dogs and all. In _Inferno_ , part of the 9th circle is named for Cain, reserved for those who betray their kin. Hence, the giant's assertion that Cain (or, you know, some hapless hunter who bears his mark) belongs there. 
> 
> Dante's 9th circle is also guarded by giants, but most of these have broken their chains and fucked off in this here fic... mainly because I didn't want to deal with them. (Also note that the giants in _Inferno_ weren't chained. They were free-range giants. Much better for you.) 
> 
> If you would like, you may imagine that the absent giants fell to Castiel and Death on their various excursions to the cage and now there's just one giant left, who is pretty chill about his job. (Get it? CHILL? Ahahahaha)


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 

"Ah, Sam. I can't recall the taste of food... nor the sound of water... nor the touch of grass..."

"So help me Crowley, if your next words are 'I'm naked in the dark' I'm leaving you in here for another week."

"You're no fun at all, Moose."

True to his word, Sam _had_ left Crowley completely alone for the past week while he went to check on Mrs. Tran. He had been astonished by what he found: a content woman who was handling the hardship in her life and moving on. There was a sadness there, as with any parent who had lost a child, but no sign of demons anywhere or any hint that she thought Kevin's spirit was in any danger. She seemed to think he'd gone to Heaven.

Sam had done nothing to disabuse her of this notion - it would be too cruel when he had no facts, and for all he knew Kevin _had_ gone to Heaven and Crowley had been spinning tales to save his hide. As soon as he had arrived back at the bunker, he'd conducted a séance to summon Kevin's ghost: if it was still Earthbound, he'd appear.

He hadn't.

So, either Mrs. Tran was right and Kevin had moved on to Heaven, or Cas's guess that Crowley had taken the ring Kevin was haunting to Hell was correct and his ghost was there.

And so they were back to square one. He hadn't heard from Dean yet regarding his own search in Hell, and Cas had angels scouring the Heavens, so it was up to Sam to deal with Crowley.

"So," Sam said, dragging over a chair and sitting on it backwards, with his arms resting on the back. "Did you really kidnap Kevin?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"Yes."

"It's good that you recognize that. But in this case, I am not. Kevin is currently squirreled away somewhere no one will ever find him."

"Then I guess the only way for us to find him is to get it out of you," Sam said. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Please. Isn't that Big Brother's line? What are _you_ gonna do, bleed on me?"

"Seemed pretty effective last time," Sam said and Crowley grimaced.

"Look Sam. I like you. I do. I feel we have a special bond, what with our occasional substance abuse problems. And I'd like to help you out. But you have to understand there is zero incentive here for me to tell you anything, as you have informed me that you are going to kill me as soon as you have the information."

"Yeah. Life's a bitch, Crowley. Possibly you shouldn't have interfered with ours so much."

Crowley glared at him silently. Sam matched his glare for a few moments before sighing, standing, and going to the shelf in the corner. He wasn't looking forward to bleeding for Crowley, but he'd done much worse.

The syringe was in his hand when Crowley finally spoke again.

"Of course, there are _other_ things I could tell you."

Sam turned, knowing this was a trap of some kind. "Like what?"

"Things about your brother. Things that he's been up to when you're not around. Or maybe he already tells you everything and I have nothing new to add."

Sam laughed. "That's a pretty transparent play, Crowley. I trust Dean way more than I trust you."

"Sam, Sam, Sam. For someone so intelligent, you have an enormous blind spot when it comes to your brother. Or did Dean tell you that he's been happily using all of the skills that the dear departed Alistair instilled in him? That he's even bringing up the next great generation of demons in his footsteps?"

"Is that all you've got Crowley? Because if it is, I'm just gonna go ahead and get on with this," Sam said, bringing the needle to his arm.

"Krissy Chambers almost died because of him!" Crowley blurted, eyes on the needle. Sam hesitated.

"Nice try, but we already talked about that. Dean saved her."

"Yeah, well, she wouldn't have needed saving if not for him," Crowley said. "He used her, Sam. Used her as a pawn in his plan to take over Hell, and nearly threw her to his demon lackeys afterward. Ask your good friend Cas about it sometime."

Sam frowned.

"Go on," Crowley said. His chains clinked as he tried to make an expansive open-handed gesture and came up short. "I'll wait."

Sam licked his lips, then mentally shrugged. What did he have to lose?

"Cas?" he called. "Castiel, Crowley's being an insufferable douche, could you--"

"I'm here, Sam," Cas said, appearing beside him. "What is it?"

"What, no hello for me?" Crowley said. Cas ignored him.

"Has he told you where to find Kevin?"

"No. But he seems to think you'll back him up on something."

"Cas, dear, tell Sammy here about Dean's adventures with Krissy Chambers," Crowley said, and Sam definitely didn't like how smug he sounded. He might not be telling the truth, but there was _some_ information here that Sam didn't have.

Cas cocked his head to the side. "Dean rescued Krissy from the pack of demons Crowley sent after her," Cas said. "You know this, Sam."

"Actually I didn't know it was directly Crowley's fault," Sam said with a glare in Crowley's direction.

"He's leaving out the bit where Dean called in the littlest angel here to establish his dominance, then tossed Krissy and her mates to the wolves," Crowley said.

"Wait, Cas, you were there?" Sam asked.

"I was," Cas said, not at all happy with the way this conversation was going. "And I assure you, I find nothing of concern in Dean's actions. But Sam, if you are unsure, I encourage you to speak with Dean directly."

"Yeah. Of course." Sam glanced at Crowley. "Looks like you've just earned yourself some more time in solitary."

"Oh, come on! I'm trying to help you here - both of you!" Crowley shouted as Sam and Cas left the room and drew the doors closed. "He's just using you! Demons lie, Sam!"

Sam shook his head as they left Crowley's cell and went to the library, which had become the de facto meeting place. "I think Crowley's finally out of tricks," he said. "But Cas, why didn't you tell me you were there when you heard me and Dean arguing about Krissy a few weeks ago?"

"I... didn't want to interfere," Cas said. "I wasn't certain of Dean's actions myself at the time, but since then I have come to see that what he did was for the best."

"Wait, hold up a sec. That's when you _should_ talk to me, Cas. That's why we're all working together. You and Dean keep an eye on each other to make sure no one goes over the edge, and you come to me if there's a problem."

"There isn't a problem. Dean is coping with his new... position as best he can. Trust _me_ , Sam, if you can't trust him. You have nothing to worry about."

 

*

 

Dean regarded the Hellhounds' kennel with distaste. It was one of the places in Hell that had not shifted so much as a molecule to reflect its new ruler. Everywhere else, things were changing, warping, but not here. Crowley's mark was still strong on the place.

"You sure it's here?" he asked Bela.

Bela looked up from her ritual scattering of salt. She did it constantly now: every few minutes she would twitch away from something unseen, then dip into the bag of salt she kept with her and scatter it about. She looked like a priest anointing a congregation with holy water, and just as solemn.

"Of course I'm sure. This is what I do." She flicked a few grains of salt at him. Other than her odd habits, she was just about back to her old self.

Dean braced himself and walked in. The Hellhounds went mad, hurling themselves at him immediately. Luckily, they were all chained. There was a very narrow path Dean could walk that would keep him out of their reach.

He _could_ kill them all, of course. But he kind of wanted to see if they could be retrained. He'd give that job to one of his least favorite students. If it didn't work out, he could always go catch himself a wild Hellhound out in the seventh circle and start from scratch. He wondered briefly if Sam would be any good with these things - he loved dogs - then reminded himself to focus on the task at hand.

According to Bela's source, the ring was with the Hellhounds' food stores. That meant, essentially, a giant closet at the end of the kennel full of meat. Dean didn't much want to think about what kind of meat, he just hoped it was refrigerated.

He broke the lock on the door and shoved it open, thinking this was way too easy. As soon as the door opened far enough, though, Dean was bowled backward by the largest Hellhound he'd ever seen. It went straight for his throat, and he gave it his arm instead, shouting in pain as it sunk its teeth in. The move gave him time to draw the Blade with his other hand, though. Dean thrust the First Blade between the Hellhound's ribs once, twice, and finally it let go and keeled over dead while the other Hellhounds redoubled their efforts to reach him.

Dean cradled his arm to his chest and rose cautiously. Luckily the fight had not taken him any closer to the chained hounds on either side of him. That would have been a mess. They were all going wild now, filling the air with their deep, baying barks and growls.

Dean took off one of his shirts (mostly ruined now anyway) and wrapped it around his forearm, which was bleeding freely. It hurt just as bad as Hellhound wounds had when he was human, but he knew he'd heal faster. For now, he had a job to do.

"Kevin!" Dean shouted, moving more cautiously into the storeroom now. "Kevin, get your ghostly ass out here!"

To Dean's immense relief, Kevin faded into focus in front of him.

"Dean? Or... a hallucination," Kevin said, looking mistrustfully at him.

"Real. Where's the ring?" Kevin pointed silently at one of the bricks in the wall. Dean worked it loose easily and scooped up the ring. "All right, let's get you out of here."

"Where's Crowley? Is my mom all right?"

"Crowley's taken care of, and your mom... uh, Sam's finding out. I'll let you know."

Bela flicked a bit of salt at them as they approached, which Kevin stepped behind Dean to avoid.

"Who's she?"

" _'She'_ is standing right here," Bela said. "Bela Talbot, thief and purveyor of lost items, at your service. You can thank me for finding you any time."

"Uh... thanks?" Kevin said awkwardly, not sure what to make of her. "What are you looking at?"

"Blank-faced spirits who want your soul. Maybe mine. Watch out for the one with the blood all over him, he's tricky."

Kevin nodded. Hell did things to you, if you weren't a demon. Sometimes even if you were. He was a ghost and he still saw things sometimes. And he had only been down here... well actually he had no idea how long. He glanced at Dean to see how he was faring, but he seemed just fine. Kevin was dying to know the whole story of how Dean was able to actually come to Hell to get him - he was forming a rather disturbing hypothesis and would appreciate having it disproved - but right now there were more pressing things to worry about.

"Dean, my mom thinks I moved on. I gave her a pretty convincing light show so she wouldn't look for me. So Crowley's goons would leave her alone. Please don't tell her I'm still hanging around - it'll only put her in danger," Kevin said.

"Sure thing, kid. Your secret's safe with me," Dean said. He was already moving on and, since he had the ring, Kevin stuck close to him. Bela came after them, gazing steadily and unblinkingly at things that weren't there.

"Where are we going?" Kevin asked.

"Someplace safe."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close to endgame here. FYI, chapters 12 and 13 were initially one chapter, but it was so long I decided to break it up. But I do encourage you to keep right on reading since there is pretty much 0 time gap between this chapter and the next.
> 
> Oh, and in case you're wondering, Crowley's quoting Frodo at the beginning of this chapter. He's not just randomly being dramatic. And of course Sam gets the reference :P


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed the note at the end of the last chapter, Chapter 13 (this one) and Chapter 12 were originally one long chapter. I broke it up to make it easier to read for those of you who like your fanfiction in small chunks. But I am also posting these back to back within minutes of each other, so if you missed Chapter 12 make sure you go back and read it or you'll be a mite confused :)

**Chapter 13**

 

Crowley sat in the dark, mind working furiously. He was by no means as certain as he had seemed that no one could ever find Kevin's ring. It was possible, especially if Dean had as much support in Hell as Crowley thought he did. He needed an escape plan.

But there was nothing. The Winchesters had grown extremely apt at holding demons over the years. After his last stay in Chateau Dungeon, Crowley had actually taken to carrying a small bottle of acid on his person for the express purpose of dissolving any markings that might hold him captive. He also had made sure to get shoes with a bit of metal in their soles so he could scrape the paint of a devil's trap off the floor. But Sam had searched him before leaving him here and the acid was gone, and his ankles were bound to the legs of the chair he was shackled to. He couldn't move enough to itch his foot, let alone damage the iron trap embedded in the floor.

That was it then. It would be a bit of torture and, if he was lucky, a lifetime of enslavement to Sam's blood. If he was unlucky, Dean would convince his softhearted brother to kill him. He was out of tricks.

"Why so glum, Crowley?" a familiar voice floated out of the darkness.

"Tevye?" Crowley said in disbelief. "I _knew_ you were working with them. You stupid bastard, don't you know what the Winchesters do to demons?"

"Yeah. Those two are too clever by half - them and poor Castiel. That kid's got a rough time ahead of him. And then of course, there's you. You just had to go and get yourself caught. I was counting on you to be clever, Crowley, but no. Now I'm gonna have to step in." A heavy sigh emerged and Crowley squinted, trying to see Tevye in the lightless dungeon. Then he heard the unmistakable squeal of tortured metal. Suddenly his shackles fell away.

"Ok," Crowley said cautiously, standing slowly. "What's your game?"

"Just trying to keep the world from blowing up. Let's go." Crowley felt a hand on his shoulder and then the room was empty but for the darkness.

 

*

 

Dean appeared in the bunker directly between Cas and Sam, who seemed to be having a pretty serious discussion. He'd acquired a clean shirt before popping up in the library, and the rolled-down sleeves covered the Hellhound wound on his arm. "What's up guys?"

"Nothing," Sam said. "Just trying to figure out how to deal with Crowley. Any luck finding Kevin?"

"I've got nothing," Dean said. "I've got demons crawling all over Hell, but wherever he's stashed, he's stashed good."

"I went to see Mrs. Tran. Dean, she thinks Kevin moved on to Heaven. You think Crowley could be playing us?"

Dean scowled at that. "Of course he could. But he had to think we'd check with her. Cas?"

"We have not found any indication that Kevin Tran is in Heaven. However, the network of personal heavens is vast. It is possible we simply have not found him yet."

"All right. Time to beat some answers out of Crowley. Let me take care of this, Sammy," Dean said, heading toward Crowley's cell.

"Hang on," Sam said. "Just - keep in mind that if he dies we might never find Kevin, ok Dean?"

"Of course. Don't worry about it, Sam. We'll find him."

Sam nodded and Dean left him with Cas, his expression turning grim as soon as he turned away from them. He went down to the dungeon with the First Blade drawn, bloodlust rising, and exactly zero intentions of leaving Crowley alive.

But when he opened the door to the cell, he found only empty shackles and a twisted length of metal from the outer border of the devil's trap, peeled right off of the concrete.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore. He jammed the First Blade into its sheath and ran back to the stairs. "SAM!"

Castiel appeared beside him instantly, and he could hear Sam running his way.

"He's fucking _gone_ ," Dean said, gesturing at the cell Crowley had lately occupied. Cas's brow creased.

"I don't understand," he said, kneeling to examine the devil's trap. The outer ring was broken, the metal pried out of the floor. Sam burst into the room.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Crowley escaped. There's a break in the trap, and he somehow got the shackles off. What the hell!"

"What? How could he--" Sam went to see the trap and the manacles himself while Dean fumed. "He had to have had help," Sam concluded finally.

"Who? No demon can get past our wards except me. Maybe Cain could do it, but... oh, shit, I was supposed to kill him wasn't I..."

"What?"

"Promised and everything. Damn. He's probably pissed at me. Don't think this was him, though, he wouldn't get involved."

"It doesn't matter," Castiel said. "What matters now is that we find Crowley. Then we can find out who helped him, and what he's done with Kevin."

"Right," Sam said with a sigh. "Ok, Dean, you'd better get back down to Hell. We don't want you to lose what ground you've gained. See if you can't mobilize some troops against Crowley. Cas, shouldn't be too hard to convince the Host of Heaven that Crowley's on the most wanted list, right?"

"Certainly. I know several angels who will be glad to have a search and destroy mission with an obvious enemy again."

"Ok, good. Take him alive if possible, we still want to find Kevin and find out who helped him, but if it comes down to it... he's used up all his free passes," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Couldn't agree more, little brother. Let's go."

 

The three split up to work on tracking down Crowley. Sam went to the library to gather books and materials before hitting the road. Castiel went back to Heaven to give his orders.

Dean went down to Hell, or more specifically, to the little pocket of Hell he'd carved out for Bela and Kevin. As the landscape shifted and broke apart and reformed, it had given him exactly what he needed: a base of operations. Unlike Crowley's ultra-utilitarian bastion of bureaucracy, Dean's more resembled a specific house where he'd always felt safe.

There were differences here: space moved differently, rooms didn't always connect where they should. The house was surrounded by a deep and dark forest instead of a graveyard of junked cars, though the asphalt road that had emerged when he'd returned from the Cage led right through the trees to his doorstep. His most trusted underlings buzzed about, trying to make themselves useful, but the basement of the house was Dean's and Dean's only.

He kept Bela and Kevin down there. Bobby's basement had been a workshop, with a saferoom in the back. This basement was three times as large, with more rooms, but it was all iron, with sigils and wards etched into every surface. Dean hadn't done that: the rooms had manifested that way. He had no idea if any of the protections on the place would actually work in Hell, or if it was just something dredged out of his subconscious as required for a safe space, but Bela seemed calmer down there.

Kevin was another story. He accosted Dean as soon as he came down the stairs. "What's going on, Dean?"

"Your mom's fine, Kevin. She bought your act. Crowley's on the loose, though, so you gotta stay here a while longer."

"Here? Here is _Hell_ , Dean! You get that I'm just a mind at this point, right? And that Hell is basically _designed_ to take something like me apart? Take me to the bunker."

"It's not safe, Kev. Staying down here should shield you from the worst of it - look at Bela, she's doing much better."

Bela was perched on the edge of a table, holding Kevin's ring up to the light and turning it so that it glinted. "There's a certain sort of mundane charm to this trinket," she mused.

Kevin had a slightly wild look around his eyes. "Dean, she's crazy. Her mind is _actually broken_. I don't want that to happen to me."

"It won't. I can protect you, Kevin. Hell's mine. You'll be fine. Bela will be fine. We'll all be fine. I can protect everyone."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUN!
> 
> Epilogue forthcoming.


	14. Chapter 14

**Epilogue**

 

"It looks... different. Different than I have ever seen it," Cas said.

"Good different though, right?" Dean said. Cas was in Hell on his invitation, and thus could remain and speak with him easily.

"The lack of flames and tormented souls is a marked improvement."

They were standing in the middle of a road that stretched out in either direction as far as the eye could see. Around them was only wasteland, with little scrubby trees just starting to push their way out of the dust. Above them yawned the pitch black of a starless, cloudless sky. On the horizon behind them, though, an orange light was slowly blossoming. "What's that?" Castiel asked, glancing back toward it.

Dean frowned and crossed his arms. "I don't know. But I don't like it."

"Hell is still in flux. This could all change greatly over the course of the coming months."

"Yeah I know. And it has been. Didn't call you down here just to look around, though. Any progress on finding Crowley?"

"You know that if we had located him, we would tell you."

"Yeah."

Dean seemed content to leave it at that, staring silently down the road. Cas watched him patiently, though he was more uncomfortable than he appeared. Invitation or no, this was still Hell, and it would never be entirely right for him to be standing here. Besides, it was giving him time to think.

Hell under the rule of several demon generals - Alistair, Lilith, Azazel, and their ilk - had echoed with screams of torment. Hell under the rule of Crowley was full of shuffling lines of hopeless souls. Where were the souls under Dean's rule? He couldn't free them, the demons he ruled would never permit it. His hold on the throne might never be secure enough to try that. Was it better that those souls suffered out of sight?

"I've been thinking, Cas," Dean said. "About grace."

"What about it?"

"Sam told me your theory about where grace goes when it's released. Did you ever confirm that?"

"No. Sam made it clear that he thought it a bad idea. I trusted his judgment."

Dean nodded. "Good. Good. Sam's... careful. Careful is good."

"Dean, what is troubling you?"

"I dunno, Cas, just..." Dean spread his arms wide to indicate everything. Which, where they were standing, was rather a lot of nothing. "Is this where I'm supposed to be? Really? This is where I end up?" His arms dropped to his sides.

"Dean,"

"I'm a demon, Cas. A twisted up wreck of everything that's good in a human. And I'm doing my best, but... I don't know how you can even stand to look at me. Not when you're so bright. You _shine_ , Cas. Grace just... radiates out from you, and when I'm near you I can feel it. I feel like myself."

"Dean." Cas reached out and pulled Dean toward him, gently. Dean let himself be pulled and bowed his head until his own forehead was resting on Castiel's. "You think... that if there is grace to be found in Heaven, it could save you?"

"Dumb idea, I know," Dean said bitterly.

"Dean, if you wish it, we could purify you. Sam would do it for you, you know he would."

"Human blood?" Dean straightened and turned away from Cas. "I'd have to live on the stuff - Crowley relapsed when he stopped taking it, and even when he was hooked on it, he wasn't exactly a model citizen. I'm no vampire, Cas."

"It's not the same, Dean--"

"Yeah." Dean took a deep breath, scrubbed his hands over his face, and exhaled harshly, tipping his head back to stare at the empty sky. "Just - thinking outside the box here. Forget I said anything. It was a selfish idea, anyway. If I went and got myself cured, or whatever the hell a bunch of grace would do to me, who'd run Hell?"

"That doesn't have to be your burden to bear."

"Yeah, well, looks like it is."

Cas put a hand on Dean's shoulder but Dean didn't turn around, refusing to look at him.

"You should go, Cas. This is no place for an angel."

Cas remained for a few moments longer, contemplating Dean's back seriously. Then he seemed to reach a conclusion and vanished from Hell. Dean turned to regard the empty space where Cas had just been and smiled a smile that reached all the way to his pure black eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and they lived happily ever after?
> 
> hahahano. Part three is next, my ducks. Hang on tight.
> 
> (Part 3 will be called From This World to That Which Is to Come. You can subscribe to the [whole Demon's Progress series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/135585) to get an email alert when I start posting it.)


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